


a mausoleum fit for me

by spectralarchers



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Depressed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, French Revolution, Gen, No betas we die like Booker, Origin Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Soft Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Terreur (French Revolution), Tragedy, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28430319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectralarchers/pseuds/spectralarchers
Summary: "And you will know what it is to lose… everyone you’ve ever loved."Sébastien le Livre was born in 1770. He died in 1812, aged 42, after being hung as a deserter from Napoléon Bonaparte's Grande Armée, shortly after the Battle of Berezina. He came back to life with a noose still around his neck and hung there for three days.This is the story of the 42 years leading to his first death and of how Sébastien le Livre became Booker, forger, soldier, mercenary - and traitor.
Relationships: Sebastien le Livre/Sebastien le Livre's Wife
Comments: 129
Kudos: 31





	1. Princesse Sophie de France

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we are - my 2020 NaNoWriMo mastodon of a story, a completely self indulgent fanfiction written solely because I saw Sébastien le Livre on screen and my French heart went "I SO need to write his story!" - so I did. It is not an apology fic, but consider it more of a "study" fic, in the sense of " _why and how did a man so broken like Booker do the things he did?_ " story. Imagine me wearing sterile gloves and performing a psychiatric and historical analysis of the character by going back to how he was molded, if it helps!
> 
> I'd love to say that the story is historically accurate, but as I am no historian, I'm relying on history books, too many Wikipedia entries to be completely sane, and a good dose of "eh, that'll be good enough!" There will be canon-typical violence in this fic - heads on spikes and other revolutionary and war casualties, etc. I've done way more research than was probably needed. Hopefully it'll be a learning journey for you guys as much as it was for me!
> 
> I have tried to keep it as historically accurate as possible - therefore, many historical characters will be featured in this story (the French Royal family and other political players of the years leading to and following the French Revolution). I am not tagging them, as I don't consider their presence in this fic as RPF.
> 
> I have also used and kept many of the original French names for things, places and titles ( _fx, I use the word Grande Armée instead of Great Army_ ). 
> 
> [solrosan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan) and [ohmystarsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleksandrah) have been my main supporters for this story, and have kept me sane while writing it. Thanks for listening whenever I come barging into our groupchat with a "HEY WHAT IF BOOKER HAD A HORSE?" thought at 2 in the morning.
> 
> The title, "a mausoleum fit for me" is from [the song SCAVA by Hollywood Undead](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/hollywoodundead/scava.html). The whole first verse of the song seemed too appropriate for Booker for me to ignore, and it continues the tradition of me naming my fics with Hollywood Undead lyrics.
> 
> I'll try to update on **Wednesdays**. You are also welcome to subscribe to this work, so you get an e-mail whenever I update it!
> 
> Happy reading, darlings! I hope you'll enjoy this ride as much as I did writing it!

**Ancient Régime:** _the political and social system in France before the Revolution of 1789._

  
**Sometime in June 1784**

If you had asked Sébastien a couple of years ago if he would have been sitting in a room, packed full of nobles, lawyers, clergymen and more, to listen to the words of the aristocratic military officer Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, dit de La Fayette as he described his career in the New World… well, Sébastien would have laughed in your face.

Sébastien Alphonse François le Livre is 14 years old, and he almost feels like a man now. His older brother, Donatien Guillemin Marie le Livre, is sitting right beside him. Their father, Maximilien Lucier Joseph le Livre had asked if they were interested in coming to the presentation of the military exploits of La Fayette, when the man returned from the newly independent United States.

The two boys, Sébastien and Donatien, had of course said yes. Donatien is five years older than Sébastien, he’s 19, and had hoped to join the Armée Royale Francaise in order to go fight next to the French in the New World. Maximilien hadn’t been too keen on it - he was, as it was, between a rock and a hard place. Being an aristocratic lawyer in the Principality of Liège, itself a part of the Lower Rhenish-Westphalian Circle, meant that it was… well not necessarily politically correct to sit in a room filled with politicians, lawyers, noblemen and aristocrats listening to how the American population had overthrown the British forces and thrown them out of their country.

The Bishop de Velbrück had encouraged the propagation of the French encyclopedists’ ideas in the principality, which had made La Fayette an interesting topic. Especially when he had come back from the New World and was talking about the military prowess of crushing the British forces and establishing a brand new country.

So, Maximilien le Livre had taken his two hot headed sons and brought them with him to Paris and sat them down beside him so that they could listen to tales of Bison, of native peoples, of winters cold as ever and of plains reaching out as far as the eye could see. Both of the boys had grown up in the city of Liège, and it would do them some good to hear about the wide world out there. Especially Sébastien - always buried in his books, thinking of wit and philosophy, wondering if he’ll ever be as good a writer as Voltaire had been, and if he would live to grow known and famous among the great thinkers of the new century looming ahead.

Donatien was more conservative in his aspirations - he was also the eldest, and so, he had chosen to follow the course of his father’s business, and was studying words and wit in another way than Sébastien. The military career has been put aside for a while.

La Fayette was discussing strategic military planning of the Siege of Yorktown, which had taken place three years prior, where the American forces led by General George Washington and the French Army troops had beaten the Lieutenant General Charles Cornwallis. 

Almost everyone in the audience is mesmerized by the tales of strategy and military strength - especially Donatien, who can barely take his eyes off La Fayette, a war hero incarnate in his eyes - but Sébastien is busy watching the people around him instead. He does it as discreetly as possible, of course, but this is the first time that he has been in Paris. 

Behind them, slightly to the left, the comte Pierre-Louis Roederer is sitting with his wife, Louise de Guaita. He’s a lawyer, who is currently in Paris to plead the case of the Manufactures de glaces et verres de Saint-Quirin, Cirey et Monthermé against that of Saint-Gobain. He’s an old friend of Maximilien le Livre - the two of them had studied in the same class of 1771 at the Université de Strasbourg and graduated at the same time. Le Livre had gone back to Liège while Roederer had gone on to the Parlement de Metz as a lawyer. He has three children, Pierre-Louis, Antoine-Marie and Francoise-Marthe, born in 1780, 1782 and 1783. Sébastien has helped his father send congratulations letters to him for the birth of each of them, the previous years. 

A little further back in the room, La Fayette’s voice reaches Paul Francois Jean Nicolas, vicomte de Barras. He had been in French India with the regiment of Languedoc in 1776, had shipwrecked on the voyage, taken part of the Second Anglo-Mysore War, and when the city of Pondicherry had surrendered to the British siege in 1778, Barras had returned to France, before going back to the same region in 1782 and 1783. Now back in Paris, he has been relatively anonymous, although he is good friends with both le Livre and Roederer.

To the back of the room, Sébastien has recognized Emmanuel-Joseph Sieyès, an abbé, ordained over a decade prior. He has been watching from his position as the canon of the cathedral and chancellor of the diocese of Chartres, how the nobles have it easier in advancing in ecclesiastical offices compared to members of the Tiers-État. 

Sébastien and Donatien had all met and greeted the men when they’d recognized Maximilien le Livre - it’s not often that Sébastien’s father is in Paris, although he has friends in the capital city of France. When he’d introduced Donatien, he had introduced him with vigor and mentioned the wanted military career many times, while when he had introduced Sébastien, he had mentioned the latter’s fondness for philosophy and the written word. Sieyès had immediately asked the youngest of them if he had read anything by the German philosopher Immanuel Kant. When Sébatien had said no, he had been appalled and promised to send him a copy of the first Critique of Pure Reason to read.

Sébastien has heard a lot about Paris, of course, both from his father and his older brother, but he’s never been before. It’s the first time that he’s gone too, and the trip hadn’t been as fun as he had hoped. Sure, travelling by carriage was nice, but it was also cold, and he got motion sickness from it. Donatien had told him to stop reading and look out of the window then, if that made him so sick that they had to stop because he may throw up, but Sébastien has told him that he simply could not stop reading.

Sébastien had asked his father for a copy of the “De l’universalité de la langue française" essay by Antoine de Rivarot, which had been published some months earlier. It had gotten the first prize in the Concours by the Académie de Berlin, which had commissioned essays on the topic of the French language and its universality, and Sébastien had wanted to read it for the historical and philology perspective. With the prospect of a book by Kant on the way, he’s happier than can be that there will be something new to read when he comes home. He’s not too familiar with the German language yet, having learned Latin and French, although he knows basic conversational in Walloon and German as well. 

So, yes, technically, Sébastien wasn’t that interested in the war itself, but more in the reasons why and how the Marquis de la Fayette had achieved such a successful venture in the new world, and how it would boost the economy and… Sébastien was just wary of the way that it had been done and how, by the way that La Fayette spoke of it, it may bleed into the European continent. There were already ideas of the power to the people, and Sébastien understood it, but he liked the idea of men wiser than him deciding for him what was good and right. For now, at least. He was simply 14 years old, and the étiquette of Court and how to behave and what his career should bring him and more… didn’t seem too interesting to him. He was, as a matter of fact, bored of it.

Donatien had started calling him “le Livre” matter-of-factly, a play on words on their surname, but also as a mocking joke, since it made Sébastien sound like he was a book as well. But where Donatien thought books were dry, dead pieces of paper and boring, Sébastien loved the life and the breath of imagination that the written word could bring.

Thus, everyone in the room seemed fascinated by this Marquis, or Général de Guerre, rather, and Sébastien kept thinking about how he would be able to find some books and essays to bring home to Liège for their way back after this evening. 

* * *

**June 21st, 1784**

The trip to Paris took a little longer than planned, but it meant that Sébastien would get introduced at Court. Maximilien was a habile writer and an even more habile lawyer, and he knew people who knew people, which made him a prized presence whenever there were any sort of parties or soirées. During these soirées, he would usually spend time discussing matters of thought, philosophy and politics with the men who had been at La Fayette’s presentation earlier that month, but today they are in even greater company. 

Having his two dashing sons with him made him even more desirable for the aristocrats in the direct vicinity of the French Royal family, because Donatien was of marrying age and Sébastien would soon follow. They weren’t nobles, though, and that meant that they couldn’t marry into nobility, but there were quite a few looks and a few pretty girls who looked their way.

The king Gustav III of Sweden has traveled all the way to the Jardins du Château de Versailles to watch the La Marie-Antoinette, a hot air balloon created by the brother Montgolfier and modified by the chemist, Joseph Louis Proust, take off into its first manned flight. 

The simple idea of filling a sack with hot air and thus achieving lift was revolutionary to all and it had been less than a year since the first manned flight from such a creation. The gardens of Versailles were packed, for the King Louis XVI and the Queen Marie-Antoinette as well as the Swedish king were there, and if there was a time to discuss anything of importance with Louis XVI, it was when he was half distracted by something as marvelous as the hot air balloon.

Sébastien was mesmerized from the moment he saw the large sack on the grounds at the jardins. That’s never going to fly, he’d thought to himself, but then the brothers Montgolfier and Proust had begun heating the air, and somehow, that had caused the fabric to fill and before long, La Marie-Antoinette was floating above them, high enough that Sébastien almost got dizzy looking up that high.

When the balloon had taken off, some of the ladies from the Queen’s company had swooned and fainted over the amazement, and Sébastien had had to find a chair for himself to sustain him. Yolande Martine Gabrielle de Polastron, known better as the Duchesse de Polignac, or simply Gabrielle de Polignac, had caused the largest commotion, almost bringing down the Queen with her as she fainted. Sébastien had immediately taken a dislike to the woman, even though her beauty could potentially have excused her. Her eyes look too empty, too fake, and the extravagance that oozes off of her doesn’t seem right to Sébastien. He looks back up at the balloon, hanging in the air immobilized by strong ropes, the small faces of the handlers peeking out from the weaved basket dingling under it.

To fly like a bird - what an amazing thought. To be able to see things from above, what an idea! There were, of course, those who thought that it was an affront to the almighty God above and that only He should be able to look down at His creations. 

But, at the Court of France, the potential for amusement was large enough that for now, nobody cared.

“Why are you sitting down?” a voice to the left asks, and Sébastien struggles with understanding the words. The way he speaks is a little different than the way they speak the Langue d’Oï here in Paris, so he needs to hear it again. Turning his head, he watches two children, followed by a woman who seems to be their Gouvernante. Immediately sitting upright from the chair he’s found, Sébastien realizes that he’s facing the two Royal children and the heir of the French throne.

“I thought that it was an incredible sight,” he replies, taking good care to articulate every word so that they understand him. The oldest of the children, the girl, Marie-Thérèse de France, is six years old and the youngest, the Dauphin de France, Louis-Joseph de France, is three years old. They look like they’re bored out of their minds, and when the Gouvernante comes running up behind them, they roll their eyes.

“This is Madame de Tourzel,” Marie-Thérèse says, pointing to the lady behind her. Sébastien gets up, unsure of whether he should have done that when he first realized he was addressing royalty or not, but the children don’t seem to mind and the Governess… doesn’t seem to mind either.

“I am sorry for the interruption, Monsieur…?” the woman - Madame de Tourzel, Sébastien reminds himself - says and he smiles, looking at the kids who seem to find him fascinating for some reason.

“Sébastien le Livre,” he replies, as he gets up, does some form of curtsy to both the Madame de Tourzel and the children, who both giggle at it because it’s not the best he’s ever done, “I’m the youngest son of Maximilien le Livre,” he explains and the Madame de Tourzel nods.

“Ah, yes, he said he’d bring his sons. I take it he’s gone with your older brother to discuss important matters and left you here to watch the advances of science?” she continues, to what he nods.

He is just about to reply, when the Princess interrupts his line of thought. “Why do you speak funny?” she asks, as the Dauphin de France lets go of her hand and the Madame de Tourzel ends up catching up with him as the young prince apparently sets off towards somewhere else.

Sébastien overhears the Governess mutter something about how the “Madade de Polignac is a stupid, idiot woman” and how she’s “going to tell the Queen” later on. This of course, is not aimed at the children - Sébastien can see by the way she’s handling the upcoming king that she’s used to them, but he wonders what it means nonetheless. From what he knows of the French court, the Queen usually did what she wanted and everyone resented her for it.

So, he looks at the Princess in front of him, who is looking back at him expectantly.

“Well, I come from the Principauté de Liège, in the Lower Rhenish-Westphalian Circle. That’s a part of the Holy Roman Empire, do you know about that?” he asks, unsure of how well educated a six year old is supposed to be. But then again, she’s a princess and a potential queen as well, so maybe…

She sighs, as the Madame de Tourzel comes back, holding the Dauphin’s hand. The youngest child seems tired, and his breathing seems labored. 

“My mother is the youngest daughter of François Ier, the former Holy Roman Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. My uncle is the Holy Roman Emperor now, his name is Joseph, do you know him?” she asks, and Sébastien smiles. So she does know a little bit about her family after all, and he’s glad of that too. 

He nods. “I know of the Holy Roman Emperor, but I have never met him, no.”

“I’ve met him a couple of times,” she explains, “We go to Vienna sometimes, to watch operas and visit him. Have you ever been to the opera in Vienna, monsieur?” she asks then.

“I’m afraid not, my lady,” he replies. He wants to: he’s read and heard enough music in the salons that he’s frequented with his father to know of the beauty of the vocal art, but he has never had the privilege of watching an opera before. The prices are too exorbitant.

The princess shrugs, as if that’s just too bad, then looks over at her brother. Madame de Tourzel is hunched over him, trying to help him breathe as he makes his way through a coughing fit.

“He’s sick,” the princess says, pointing at the Dauphin. “Our doctor, his name is Pierre-Édouard Brunier, says that he has fevers and that there’s something wrong with him, but they don’t know what.”

Sébastien and the Madame de Tourzel exchange a look, then a frown, but the tone of the conversation shifts again when Sébastien realizes that a group of people is coming their way. He realizes that it counts both of the Kings present, the Queen herself and a woman which he guesses is the Madame de Polignac the Madame de Tourzel spoke of earlier. 

“Ah, children!” the Madame de Polignac says, as both of the children’s faces light up.

“It was nice to meet you, Sébastien le Livre!” the princess says as she turns around and runs to greet her mother and her father, telling them about how awesome the hot air balloon was and how she’d like one for herself. The King and Queen barely spare a look his way, but Sébastien remains standing nonetheless. 

When the group has passed and he’s certain that nobody will judge him for sitting down again, Sébastien does so and sighs. He stays seated for a little while more, looking at the sky as it shifts from bright blue to darker blue, and soon enough, one of the servants comes his way to let him know that his father has summoned him.

* * *

**June 18th 1787***

There’s laughter in the air, and it feels absolutely amazing. The gardens of Versailles are blooming with flowers and greenery, and all the gardeners are currently working on setting the grass, so that it isn’t too high.

Wouldn’t want the grass too high, now, would they. It’d mean that the royal children would get their dresses and shoes dirty, and that was a no go. They had to, at all times, be impeccable. Even to the Court of the largest Royal House in Europe.

Sébastien le Livre, son of a lawyer, has made himself a little spot within the entourage of the Queen of France, Marie-Antoinette d'Autriche and her four children. It had been through the children that he’d gotten in, really.

The beloved children of France - the first child, Marie-Thérèse, he’d met a couple of years prior already. She had been a girl, and hadn’t been the wanted heir to France. The king and queen hadn’t been too fond of carnal love, and rumors had gone by and wide that they wouldn’t consummate their marriage until the first child had been conceived. Their bedsheets had been sold, smuggled out of the palace, to see if there were any traces of sex. Any bodily fluids or any traces of any kind of conception. There had been a doctor brought in, a specialist, Sébastien had heard, to look on as the king and queen were trying to conceive, to check that they were doing everything right - putting the right things in the right places and staying there long enough for the power of life to begin. 

He couldn’t imagine the humiliation of having people watch, comment and gossip around you, on matters as intimate as sex and the making of children. It had been worse even for Marie-Antoinette, who’d had to give birth in front of a crowded room of aristocrats, nobles, doctors and clergymen - all to make sure that there was no replacing the child or fraud with the coming heir to the throne of France.

Poor children. They’d been pieces on a chessboard before they had even taken their first breath in this world. But it was thanks to these children, that Sébastien had gotten into the royal court in the first place.

His father, Maximilien le Livre, lawyer extraordinaire and member of the aristocracy, owned a library and Sébastien had learned to bind books as a child. So, when it had been time to find out what to send for Sophie Hélène Beatrix de France for her first birthday in the month of July 1787, Sébastien’s father had asked him to come up with something. After the successful encounter with the royal children some years prior, it would be a good idea to send the youngest to bring the present forth. Good relations and all that.

And, come up with something that he had done: Sébastien had worked hard to create a velum bound compilation of Jean de la Fontaine’s best fables and poems for the four royal children to read and learn from. Even if the gift was intended to the youngest princess, now just under a year of age, it was meant as entertainment for Marie-Thérèse de France, who was eight and proficient at reading; for Louis Joseph Xavier Francois de France, who was five and starting to be able to write some letters and his own name, and last but not least, for Louis Charles de France, the younger prince, barely over two years of age. 

The stories that de la Fontaine had crafted served as étiquette and moral lessons, and Sébastien had thought that they were the perfect way to establish a nice diplomatic relationship with the royal family. 

(Not that it was needed, for Sébastien’s father had, as a lawyer, connections to all the royal families in Europe and knew of the inner workings of what was going on between the French Kingdom and the Holy Roman Empire. But, Versailles always demanded more attention. And since his youngest had been talked to by the Royal children, well… always a good way to make good use of a sudden new piece of an ever changing chessboard, right?)

It had been a tedious work: Sébastian had sifted through the enormous amounts of poems to find the fifteen best ones, according to him, and then he’d spent days and weeks figuring out how to adorn the pages of the velum bound book, with the softest paper available in his father’s printing business. 

Le Corbeau et le Renard had been one of the most obvious choices for the book, with its morals of humility and of flattery. Sébastien had thought about gifting his father’s first edition print of Blaise Pascal’s Pensées to the young royal children, but that could have led to a diplomatic incident. 

Instead, he had copied, in his prettiest calligraphy possible, one of Pascal’s letters, as a gift to the Dauphin de France. Maybe, mostly, as a warning. Sébastien was only 17 now, but he already knew that the Courts of Europe were some of the most two-faced places in this world, and if he could help the Dauphin understand that, then… It would have been worth it. Like Pascal said: “A prince may be the by-word of all Europe, yet he alone knows nothing of it. I am not surprised; to speak the truth is useful to whom it is spoken, but disadvantageous to those who speak it, since it makes them hated. Now those who live with princes love their own interests more than that of the prince they serve, and thus they take care not to benefit him so as to do themselves a disservice.”

For Sébastien is a man of letters and art, first and foremost, so all the poems in the gift have been thought through. The same goes with the Lièvre et la Tortue - the Courts of Europe will want their children to think all decisions through, and if, by some chance, he can help the children think of the better outcomes and of more than war, unsteady alliances and more… Then it would have been worth it.

Someone at the court, probably Louis-Charles’ première gouvernante, Tourzel, had asked for the present to be delivered in person by the Le Livre-family. It would have done some good to the king, apparently, to discuss matters of the state with the older Le Livre, but he had other occupations. The Principauté de Liège had seen a new prince-bishop appointed in 1784, when Hoensbroeck had replaced Velbrück. And, although Hoensbroeck was an ecclesiast, he was… put mildly, not a popular figure.

And that caused problems for Maximilien Le Livre, who had profited by the politics introduced by Velbrück: introducing more ideas from the Lumières into the Principality of Liège had benefited the lawyer, who had grown rich and carved himself a name in all of Europe’s courts. Hoensbroeck had put an end to the more liberal politics of the Principality, and had reestablished some of the privileges from the clergy and the nobility, crushing the États Généraux’ political aspirations. 

So, little young Sébastien le Livre, youngest of two sons, had gone from Liège to Versailles, on a trip to present a gift to the Famille Royale de France, on the occasion of the youngest’s first birthday.

When he had arrived, Madame de Tourzel had been the one to welcome him. “It is good to see you, young man,” she had said, taking his hand and helping him down from the carriage. His bags were picked up by some of the servants, but he had kept the present under his arm.

“I had hoped for your father, but your wit and knowledge is welcome here,” she’d commented, and Sébastien had felt a blush on his cheeks. 

“I’m not sure my wit and knowledge exceeds that of the teachers you have hired for the children, madame,” he’d replied and she’s looked at him with a pointed gaze.

“Teachers can do much for children and they can discipline them. The children like you, they spoke of you several times after they met you the day the La Marie Antoinette flew over the gardens behind you. They are excited to meet you again, I’m sure,” she’d said then, and Sébastien had felt a pang of pride in his chest. The Royal children had been happy to meet him and most of all, they’d remembered him. 

The present had been opened the very moment he’d arrived by the oldest, Marie-Thérèse, of course, and she had shrieked with joy at the sight of the magnificent illuminations in the book. Then, she had done something which had caught Sébastien off guard: she’d asked him if he would read it to her and her brothers.

Sa Majesté la Reine, Marie-Antoinette, had been nowhere to be seen at the time, busy with her last born, and so the Madame de Tourzel had cocked her head at him and nodded, giving him permission to do so. Sébastien knew from his father that there was a strict court étiquette to follow while in Versailles, but as far as the children were concerned, it seemed that it was more lax than otherwise. Even though the King, Louis XVI, held the education of his oldest son amongst his top priorities. He had been promised to Marie-Amélie de Bourbon-Siciles, the tenth child of Ferdinand IV of the Kingdom of Naples. 

And so, they’d found a spot in the gardens, near one of the multiple water fountains. Sa Majesté le Roi, Louis-Auguste de France, otherwise known as Louis XVI, had important matters to attend to. The Assemblée des notables had been convened to discuss the state of France’s absolutely disastrous finances. 

There had only been an assembly of notables some times prior: one in November 1583 when Henry III had convened them to address religious demonstrations that threatened the collapse of the State. Then, in 1596, when Henry IV called upon them to assist in developing and authorizing new taxation plans for the country’s massive debt. Then, the previous one, 160 years prior, had been called by Louis XIII in 1626 to discuss raising funds for France’s finances yet again. It had taken place in the Tuileries, where the cardinal de La Valette and the cardinal Richelieu had presented an economic programme, known as the code Michau, allowing noblemen to begin commercial and maritime ventures without losing their nobility.

Today, the Assembly is discussing new taxes to help save the finances of France, and from what Sébastien can tell at court, things aren’t going too well. Calonne had handpicked the Assembly in order to approve new taxes, but they opposed him in the beginning of April, and thus, he’d been disgraced and forced to leave the country.

Loménie de Brienne, a bishop, approved by Marie-Antoinette herself, had been named president of the Assembly in Calonne’s place and had succeeded in making the parlement accept notions of free trade, and gotten rid of the corvée, which in its statute of unpaid and unfree labour consisted as taxation. 

Sébastien, although still young, understands that there are more threads at work here than he can possibly understand, and keeps to himself and the royal children for now. So, he opens the book he’s spent hours making, and gets comfortable on the marble stone he’s found to sit on, with the three royal children at his feet, looking up to him.

He doesn’t know much about the étiquette, but he knows that their eyes are starving for something to mesmerize them. 

And so, when he begins reading the poems, he brings them to life as much as he can. The Corbeau from the first poem gets a crooked voice, and he hunches his back to become more birdlike as he reads out the crow’s lines, but when it comes to speaking in the voice of the Renard, he stands up straight, pretending to be much higher and finer than he is. 

The youngest Prince, Louis-Charles, giggles at his different voices. Madame de Tourzel is smiling too. She’s technically appointed to Louis-Charles, but has been taking care of the three oldest children as of late - with the King in Assembly most of the time, Marie-Antoinette is busy taking care of Sophie-Hélène and has enough to see to. 

Even though there are great things looming around him, Sébastien feels it for the first time: the desire to have children of his own, one day, that he can teach and make laugh and smile and more. For, as he looks at the three young faces in front of him, there is no desire but to elevate them with knowledge and love. As much as he can, anyways. 

Because he is sure that the Queen has hand-picked the most efficient and the straightest teachers for her children. Especially the Dauphin, who one day will be King himself. Even if he is only but 5 years old today, the little Louis-Joseph already holds himself in a way that Sébastien only recognizes among Noblemen. Sure, Maximilien Le Livre is an aristocrat - and a wealthy one at that - Sébastien didn’t received the same amount of education as a child, and his posture isn’t as composed as that of some of the other 17-year olds in the current Court of the French royal family.

But, knowing that the Assembly, that the King and Queen are busy taking care of finances, and that the children are left much to their own devices within the established relationships of the étiquette… Well, what can he do but stay? His father had told him to stay, possibly in order to gain the favors of the French court in matters of the Principality of Liège. Sébastien doesn’t exactly know that - he hasn’t even met the King and Queen yet, and he doesn’t think that he will. There’s more than a hundred people between him and her, and besides… But, his father’s friend, the Comte Roederer, had accepted to host him in his home in Paris. Roederer usually stays in Metz, where he is an elected official, but the apartments he owns in Paris are to be used rather than kept cold and damp. So, Sébastien had set up his own quarters in one of the guest rooms. 

He can’t talk to them unless they speak to him first, and there is absolutely no way - in his mind, anyway - that the King and Queen of France, one of the greatest kingdoms in the world, would ever speak to him.

For now though, there are two hands tugging at his shoes, asking him to please, please, read the Corbeau et le Renard again, because they loved his rendition of a crow so much. He ignores the quick thought that pops into his head that they’ve probably noticed that his shoes aren’t the same leather quality as theirs, or that the stockings he’s wearing aren’t silk like theirs but wool, and takes a deep breath before looking over the first line of the poem: “Maître corbeau, sur un arbre perché…”

The looks on their faces? It’s why Sébastien decides to stay in Paris even though he had been supposed to return to Liège prior to this, as the Roederer would be moving back into their apartment in Paris this summer. He decides to stay until the official birthday of the little Sophie-Hélène Béatrix de France, on July 9th.

* * *

**June 19th 1787**

Something terrible has occurred.

Sébastien doesn’t know what, but all the gouvernantes and all the ladies in waiting had suddenly left whatever task they had been busy with to run to Sophie Hélène’s room. 

He had been reading Immanuel Kant’s words, kindly gifted to him by Sieyès, in one of the many little nooks of the gardens when he had heard the commotion. First, it had started with the Madame de Tourzel leaving the castle with the littlest princess in a pram for their usual afternoon walk. Nobody had paid any attention to the act, since it was something that happened almost every day.

Sébastien didn’t have anything to show or tell the children today - the two oldest ones had been kept all morning in lessons orchestrated by Gabrielle de Polignac herself. She was Marie-Antoinette’s favorite, and the Gouvernante des enfants royaux, charged with their education. She’d taken over from Victoire de Rohan in 1782, which had caused quite the uproar at court, because she did not have the proper background for it. The teachings she had set up for the children were in all things academic - Greek, Latin, the French language, philosophie, moral and more. So, he had been wandering the castle grounds on his own. 

He’s not dumb either - he knows that the Gouvernante isn’t in favors with a lot of the others at court, and that she seems to be the inspiration to many of Marie-Antoinette’s failed financial ventures. But what does he know, he’s only 17 still, and nobody will listen to a wannabe aristocratic bourgeois who is only in Versailles by the graces of the Madame de Tourzel.

The afternoon had gone its usual course, with everyone doing their duties, Marie-Antoinette playing her usual games of Pharaon with the Madame de Polignac, hiding away from the public eye since her reputation had been tarnished in 1785 by the Diamond necklace affair. Marie-Antoinette had once played Pharaon for a straight 36 hours straight, missing the Messe de la Toussaint, the All Saints Mass, which had caused quite the ruckus at court. 

After the Madame de Tourzel had walked around the castle grounds with the princess in her pram, she had come back with something in her arms.

Sébastien first notices that the pram is nowhere to be seen, and thinks at first, that it must be because Sophie Hélène had gotten cold as she napped. But, the more the words and the voices join the conversation, the more he can see that there is something wrong. The Madame de Tourzel disappears into the castle, into the Princess’ room by what he can guess, and then all the ladies and women follow her inside. 

Peeking up from the book he’s been reading, he looks around, trying to locate the pram. He finally gets up, and begins to walk the path that he knows Madame de Tourzel took today - she started by going left, then she’d usually go down by the fontaines, and then back up. It was almost an hour walk, and she had only been gone for three quarters of an hour yet.

As he walks around, he finally catches a glimpse of the pram, the cover ripped off in what seems a hurry. Turning towards it, cries from the castle wall interrupt him and he turns around. 

“The Queen-!” someone yells, but is interrupted, as more people start to turn on their heels towards the steps up to the castle. He doesn’t understand why, and makes his way to the pram, noticing nothing strange other than the fact that someone had gone through the trouble of ripping off the cover of it. Madame de Tourzel had been complaining about the hinges of the pram, saying that it was getting difficult to open and close it, so he doesn’t immediately think of anything tragic.

It’s only when he gets back to the castle that he realizes what has happened.

The Queen has retreated to her chambers, and Sébastien hears whispers among the members of the court. She’s dead, they keep saying, shocked. Some of the ladies bear the signs of having fainted, just like the Queen had, he learns. 

Louis Joseph, the dauphin, is asking for his mother. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, and his older sister, Marie-Thérèse is trying to calm him down. Gabrielle de Polignac is nowhere to be seen, and none of the teachers seem to be able to figure out a way to gather their attention, until Louis Joseph notices Sébastien.

He doesn’t have a chance, as the dauphin runs towards him. 

“They’re saying that she’s dead!” he says, voice too serious to possibly comprehend what the statement means, Sébastien realizes. Marie-Thérèse is a little older, but she looks as frightened as her younger brother, the king to be.

“What happened?” Sébastien tries, breaking the strict established protocol of the court, that one does not speak to others unless spoken to first. Someone mumbles, ignoring the looks on the faces of the two children, as if that would make the news better.

“They say she passed during the promenade,” one of the girls says to him, in passing, as she crosses from one room to the other. “They don’t know why. They’re saying convulsions.” 

He won’t get more than that. Of course, Sébastien has heard the gossip at court: Sophie had been bigger at birth than the other three, but she hasn’t been gaining weight or growing like the others. One of the main rumors that he’s heard, as he was reading to the children but still listening to what the adults were saying, was that the Queen had tried to get rid of the child. According to Sébastien, that had to be a lie: Marie-Antoinette loved the child they’d called Madame Sophie. 

But the matter of the fact is: the youngest princess of France is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _* Technically the Assemblées des notables from 1787 was held from February 22nd 1787 to May 25th 1787, but for the sake of fic, I waved my magic around and shuffled dates around a little bit._
> 
> I actually plastered my entire living room wall with wrapping paper and used about 300+ post its to make a chronological timeline of the time period going from 1770 to 1830. (The wrapping paper was so I didn't end up writing ON the wall).
> 
> I also watched "[La Révolution Francaise](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_R%C3%A9volution_fran%C3%A7aise_\(film\))," the six hour movie produced in 1989 for the 200 years of the Révolution as well as the "[Napoléon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Napol%C3%A9on_\(miniseries\))" miniseries starring Christian Clavier as Napoléon, and I recommend them as well, if anything to get a face for the many characters that will be mentioned throughout this story.
> 
> Another self indulgent thing in this story is the fact that one of the historical characters is actually an ancestor of mine IRL, so getting to write them into this story is incredibly fun and the closest I'll ever get to do a self-insert. 
> 
> What was your favorite scene? Did you even know about Princesse Sophie? It's only going to get worse from here for the Royal family - and, by extension, for Sébastien. Anything specific you are looking forward to?
> 
> You can, as always, [find me on tumblr ♥](https:spectralarchers.tumblr.com)


	2. Dauphin Louis-Joseph de France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When is a forger really a forger? And what does being a leftie have to do with anything? Sébastien le Livre has already seen how the Famille Royale has lost a child - but it will not be the last time. And, when Death strikes the French monarchy again, it couldn't have come at a worse time - the Révolution is knocking on the door of Versailles, at time is short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Thank you for sticking around and for making it through the first chapter! This one covers a little bit more time than the previous one, so I hope you will enjoy it - and, this is where we see Sébastien le Livre practice his first forgery skills. But it's not in the context you think it is!
> 
> Enjoy!

**September 19th, 1787**

“How is it that you can write so well?” Marie-Thérèse asks one day, as she’s practicing writing with a feather herself. She still hasn’t figured out exactly how to hold it so that the ink can flow from the point and down onto the paper without smudging. 

Sébastien looks up from his own piece of paper, where he is currently trying to write a letter to his father. He’s got a smile on his face.

“Well, my father taught me well. He started as someone who worked in printing, but then he became a lawyer, and in order to do that, he had to know how to write fast and well. My older brother and I have learned to write since we were your age too,” he replies, dipping the edge of the feather in the ink in front of him.

“But it’s so hard!” the princess whines and Sébastien laughs at that too. 

“Nobody said it was going to be easy, you have to think of every line of the letter like you were painting a picture, see,” he says, turning the piece of paper with the beginning of his letter so that the princess can watch what his hand does. Gently pressing down the feather onto the paper, he forms an A, then a u and then the other letters for “today” in French, until her eyes are mesmerized.

“But you write so fast!”

“I didn’t write as fast as this when someone first put a feather in my hands,” he replies and she gives him a mischievous look with her eyes - she’s just trying to get out of the chores of having to learn to write. She likes reading better, it demands less effort from her, and she’d rather have Sébastien write down whatever she dictated. She had dictated some made-up stories over the last few days about a princess and her little sister and her brothers, and Sébastien had known that she was trying to deal with the passing of her little sister and the Dauphin getting sicker. What had begun as a cough had soon progressed into something else - Sébastien had heard that cough before, when he was a child, and it hadn’t been fun.

The cough had taken his mother when he was 4 years old, and he knew enough of the symptoms to know that doctors couldn’t do a single thing for the child. It would get worse. They could take him to the countryside where the clear air would do him some good for a while, and the Queen had discussed going away for a little while to mourn the death of her youngest away from Paris, but then that would have meant letting go of the following she had at court - and her royal pleasures of gambling.

So, they’d stayed here, and Sébastien, by the graces of the Madame de Tourzel and the Comte Roederer, had been allowed to sit with the children when they weren’t following strict education by the teachers of the royal family. He was only a lower level aristocrat of his own merit, but he was a clever 17 year old boy and if that meant that there was someone around the children who could help Madame de Tourzel deal with them, then… so be it. Especially after the young Louis-Charles had begun asking to spend time with Sébastien.

“And were your letters as ugly as mine?” Marie-Thérèse asks then, almost indignant at his pretty letters, and he nods. 

“Here, I can still write like I did when I started,” he says, as he pulls another piece of paper to him which she had scribbled on prior to her interruption. He dips the quill into the ink, and with a deep breath shows her just how he can change the ways his strokes flow onto the paper, and she looks on fascinated. It looks just like her writing - he’s watched her write enough times that he knows how she forms her letters, where to hesitate, where she goes wrong.

So, when he is done, she laughs, her laughter clear and happy in spite of the grim mood around the royal family after the death of Madame Sophie the month prior.

“You’re writing like me!” she says, loud enough that Sébastien shushes her - he can copy right about anyone’s writing, but he doesn’t like too many people knowing it. He had assisted his father in writing many letters in his cases, to clients, in the name of Maximilien le Livre, and the penmanship had had to be excellent. Therefore, Sébastien had learned how to imitate a pen stroke to perfection, in order to help his father out. 

“It isn’t hard, see,” he motions again with the pen, pulling her own piece of paper towards him. “You bend your As like so,” he imitates it, “and then you feel afraid to commit when you’re making a D because it has so many curved lines, yes?” she nods, and he continues, “and the Q, don’t even get me started on that! What kind of a letter even is that?” he laughs, mocking but gentle at the same time, as she laughs again. It’s a sound he enjoys so much, especially since it had been so absent in so many days after the passing of her youngest sibling. 

“Do you think you could write like my mother? She has such fine lines,” Marie-Thérèse says, swinging her arms, trying to imitate the way her mother writes with her arms. Sébastien shrugs.

“I don’t know, I have never seen your mother’s writing myself,” he replies, as she comes to sit on his lap. She invites herself onto him, he hasn’t asked and his position isn’t exactly the kind that invites a child sitting on one’s lap - especially when her knee accidentally hits him in the groin hard enough to make him flinch, which she thankfully doesn’t realize as she keeps climbing onto him. 

“What did you write for your father?” she asks, taking the quill out of his left hand, and putting it in his right hand. Sébastien can write with both hands. It had been forced out of him by his father, who had told him that the left hand should never be used to write. Sébastien had spent hours re-learning how to write with his right hand while his left hand was tied up behind his back, and finally, after many a struggle, he’d perfected his writing enough that his father had dared to let him help.

As a matter of fact, he was ambidextrous, and he kept his penmanship with his left hand up to par with his right hand. He felt it was easier to write in other’s handwriting with his right hand, but when he wrote for himself, he wrote with his left hand. That meant that his letters would change direction slightly whenever he changed hands, but it allowed him to pass relatively incognito whenever he sent letters around. 

Not that he did much, the cost of them was too high. He had gotten enough to send a letter to his father to tell him about what was happening at court and how everyone was handling the death of the young princess.

Sébastien takes a deep breath, not too sure if he should lie or not. She can, after all, read what he’s already written on the paper in front of him. 

“I am writing about how I am doing here in your home,” he says, quietly. She’s looking down at the paper in front of both him and her, and as he watches her hair, he wonders how it would feel like, one day, to have a daughter of his own, sitting in his lap, so that he could teach her how to write. “I came with a present for your family, and I think my father will like to know how you found it, if you found it to your taste at all,” he teases, and she turns her head around and mockingly laughs in his face.

Pushing Marie-Thérèse slightly to the side, so that she sits better in his lap, he leans forward and puts the quill in her right hand, then his hand over hers, so that he can guide her.

“Do you want to write to him yourself?”

She inhales sharply, as if that’s the best idea ever. 

“Will he be able to read what I write?” she asks, suddenly afraid of her own clarity in her writing, and Sébastien can’t help but smile and chuckle.

“Well, if you do it carefully and make sure not to smudge, I’m sure that he will be able to read it.” He pauses, looks up, absolutely aware that he is being watched by more than the people around them. 

“I want to write that I liked your book! And that we saw a horse this morning! And that my father got some new reading glasses - did you know that wearing them means that he can see better? Before that, he said all the letters were blurry in front of him when he read, but then the doctors came around and now he can read again! That’s great, because the people who come and go and those he needs to see because he’s the King of France need him to be able to read what’s written in front of him.”

She’s practically out of breath when she’s done, and Sébastien taps his thumb on the back of her hand as gently as he can.

“Alright, alright, one thing at a time, princess.” She takes a deep breath, recovering from her improvised monologue, and then starts dipping the quill in the ink and places it on the paper. 

Sébastien helps guide her hand gently as she begins to form letters, which she asks him about before she commits. He tells her to be careful not to put her palm over the wet ink, and when they’re done with two or three words, they stop, take a breath, blow a little bit on the paper to make sure it dries, and then move onto the next few words. 

Time goes by fast when he’s having fun, and as far as Sébastien is concerned, this is good for the child.

However, when he hears footsteps coming towards them, there is no mistaking the end of these activities. The princess seems to be willful to ignore the Madame de Tourzel who has come to fetch her for her afternoon lessons, and Sébastien leans back to let the child jump down from her lap.

“Sébastien will need to finish his letter before we can send it,” Madame de Tourzel says gently, and Marie-Thérèse makes a grimace, then crosses her arms in a very unladylike manner. It’s not too hard for Sébastien to understand - her lessons that don’t include him are about étiquette, how to carry herself like a proper lady and princess, how to address others. When she’s with him, for better or for worse, she doesn’t have to apply étiquette as much as with the others. That much Madame de Tourzel knows, but she also knows that Sébastien knows not to push his own boundaries. 

It’s like getting a free babysitter who knows how to write.

When the princess finally gets up, adjusts her little dress, and begins to walk away, with one of the ladies in waiting following the Madame de Tourzel, Sébastien looks up at the lady herself. The lady in waiting had been the same who had told him about Sophie de France’s death the month prior, and he had meant to thank her for answering him, but hadn't gotten around to it.

“Forgive me if I delayed the princess,” he begins, but the Madame de Tourzel interrupts him with a pointed finger and a warm smile. She has also noticed the way he’s looked at the young woman in her service, and the smile betrays it. Again, Sébastien feels like a child taken with his hand in the cookie jar: he hadn’t meant for his gaze to be this obvious, and yet it had.

“It has been difficult to keep her happy after her mother became bereaved from Madame Sophie’s untimely passing,” Madame de Tourzel explains. “We are lucky to have you here, Sébastien.”

She glances down at the papers in front of him, clearly recognizing Princess Marie-Thérèse’s handwriting, and then glancing around notices that there is a piece of paper which looks like it had been written on by the princess, but a trained eye will see that it has still been written by an adult who knows their way around a quill.

“You know how to write quite well, Le Livre,” she says, her tone a little more pointed than usual. Sébastien feels an ice cool sweat break on his back - forgery is a crime that’s punishable by prison. Not that imitating the writing of a child will get him into trouble in any way shape or form, the knowledge that he is able to write like others is… interesting for Madame de Tourzel. 

“I helped my father with his work-” he begins, but she lifts her hand again, the warm smile back.

“We know you helped your father. Some of his letters were more applied than others, when he conversed with us at Court,” she explains, and Sébastien realizes that she knows it was him who wrote them. “No doubt that he dictated them for you.”

The fact that Madame de Tourzel knows that Sébastien has written some official letters on behalf of his father makes him both feel more at ease and less at ease. He never did so in bad faith, and he would never dare imitate someone else’s writing, but for some reason, it makes him feel nervous.

“Don’t fret, young man. Your gift is safe with me,” Madame de Tourzel continues, then pointing at his left hand, which still carries slight ink stains. “And that one too.”

Looking down at his hand, Sébastien only now realizes that there are splashes of ink on them, and immediately begins rubbing them with his thumb, after wetting it with his mouth. When he looks up again, Madame de Tourzel has left again, and he watches her go, as he sits quietly on the chair. 

He turns his back towards the letter for his father again, and reads over what he has already written. He is writing about how he feels about Sophie’s death and about the children, about how he misses home, but also about how he feels more at home here than he ever did in Liège.

He will ask for news of his brother Donatien who has tried to be accepted into the Armée royale de France for a couple of weeks already, to no avail. It wasn’t easy being a foreigner, not when the crops of the spring had failed enough to cause hunger and the price of bread to skyrocket.

Sébastien knows that he is privileged living at Court: whenever he goes into Paris for any reason whatsoever, he sees the people around him. They are agitated and tired from their hard work. He gets to sit around and wait for a task to fall upon him, when they get up at dawn to grind wheat, bake bread, make paper, weave fabric and more. He is still living with the Roederer family, who comes and goes between Paris and Metz, and has become quite familiar with the children, with Antoine-Marie proving to be quite clever for his age of five. 

He’s gone to the official royal presses more than one time to see them at work. He dreams of working in the publishing business, possibly as a writer. He has dreams to write a book or an essay as well known as those of other famous French thinkers. He still remembers the feeling he’d had inside when he had finished Candide by Voltaire, and he had marveled at the words of René Descartes, reading the Méditations métaphysiques for the first time when he had arrived at the Royal library one day. 

He’d walked in, and seen countless books and volumes on shelves. Some he hadn’t dared touch, simply by looking at the materials they had been made of, and others he had asked for help to find. If there was anything that he had hoped, it was almost certain that it would be there.

So, he had spent some time and had finally found the Méditations métaphysiques and given it a lot of thought.

Philosophy was one of his favorite subjects, and Donatien used to tease him about it: you think too much, little brother, he’d say, and punch Sébastien in the shoulder, to try and make him snap out of it.

* * *

**July 1788**

There have been riots in Grenoble. Sébastien has heard it called the Journée des Tuiles, the Day of the Tiles. The French public debt has become common knowledge, and Sébastien knows that it’s only a matter of time before the riots gain even more momentum.

The price of bread has skyrocketed due to poor harvests, and where the commoners are facing hardships by paying taxes, the Church, nobility and aristocracy are refusing to ease up on any of their privileges. 

The people who had met up in Grenoble had called together the old Estates of the province du Dauphiné, to which the King and the government had replied by sending troops. The people of Grenoble had gathered at the city gates to keep judges and lawyers from leaving the Grenoble meeting, and at noon, they’d apparently gained control of the cathedral’s bells. The ramparts were crossed, while insurgents had climbed all the way to the Hôtel, where the Duke of Clermont-Tonnerre was staying. At the head of two regiments, one from the Régiment Royal-la-Marine with the colonel Marquis d’Ambert in charge and the Régiment D’Austrasie commanded by the colonel Count Chabord, it meant that the navy had been the first to respond to the riots.

Someone had spilled blood first - it’s still unsure who or why, but whether it had been insurgents or the navy, the sight of it had caused even more anger and violence to rise. An officer of the navy ordered to shoot at the crowd, causing the death of one and wounding a 12 year old boy. 

The crowd then went for the weapons and ammunition, before getting into the Hôtel and causing the escape of the consuls of the city. At that, the navy was ordered to return to their quarters. 

The month after that fateful day, Claude Perier opened his castle, the Château de Vizille, to the meeting of the Estates of the Province of Dauphiné. They went to his room of Jeu de Paume, where almost 500 men had gathered, and they had then asked and demanded the Convocation in Paris of an Estates-General. 

Sébastien has gotten letters from his father, urging him to stay in Paris. As long as he stays with Roederer, he will be safe. Whatever is going in Grenoble will surely reach Paris at some point, and having had relations with the Royal family through previous crises, Maximilien le Livre wants his son in a prime position to report back on what’s going on. But, Sébastien both wants to leave and to stay: he wants to go back to the safety of his father’s lawyer firm, and help him with letters about smaller matters than that of entire countries. But at the same time, whenever he sits and plays with the royal children, he gets more and more attached, and the idea of having to let go of them breaks his heart.

He simply isn’t ready for it. He isn’t. He can’t - they mean too much to him.

He’s come to realize that he cares deeply for the three children - more than he thought he could. He is eighteen years of age now, and by all means, he should have been looking for a wife to marry by now, but he is more busy learning philosophy as he assists the children in their own education. He does not dare counter the arguments made by the teachers, and sits with the Madame de Tourzel and the young lady in waiting who seems to be avoiding him as much as possible when the children are in lesson. 

When he isn’t too busy reading philosophy in books written by Germans, he assists the children in learning horse riding. He has learned by proxy as well: when the Duke of Normandy, the youngest child, had learned that he had never sat properly on a horse, he had asked for someone to produce a horse large enough to carry Sébastien and, for a short time, the four year old had been the one teaching Sébastien how to carry his weight on the back of a horse.

It had been one of the funniest days in Sébastien’s life: a child, barely tall enough to sit on his pony, telling Sébastien not to be afraid of the large horse the écuries have produced, and mocking Sébastien for his position. Of course the horse won’t turn, Sébastien, you have to show him with your weight, Louis-Charles would say, and Sébastien would try his best.

_ Maybe  _ he had fallen off the horse purposefully one time, flat on his ass in the sand of the training patio at the castles, to the great amusement of all those who had watched. Sébastien had noticed that the young lady in waiting had laughed at that too, and when she’d noticed him staring again, she had composed herself again. He really must ask for her name, sometime. 

They would also spend time together reading, with Sébastien trying to teach them a simplified version of what Kant wrote in his essays, and he had also taught them some words in Walloon, while they had helped him with his German. Playing games of maths with him as well as asking him riddles, he had grown extremely fond of the children. 

And, he’s pretty sure that the Madame de Tourzel is aware of how he thinks of them, for he has been allowed a little bit more leniency when it comes to helping them with their writing.

(After all, as someone who had learned to write two times, one time with each hand, he was the perfect teacher, because he knew enough to remember what it felt like to be frustrated when the quill wasn’t doing what you wanted it to do).

* * *

**February 1789**

Jacques Necker, the finance minister, has invited writers to write how they thought that the États Généraux should proceed. This has led to several publications finding their way to Court, brought in by those who have the means to buy them.

One of the few that Sébastien has been able to read, because an edition of it was sent to him by its author at Court is the pamphlet “ _Qu’est ce que le Tiers-État?_ ” by the Abbé Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès. He had been the one to send him some of Kant’s writing and other pamphlets and essays too, to try and hone the intellectual skills of the young le Livre.

The first page of this specific essay leaves no doubt as to how Sieyès thinks the country should be divided up: everyone equal, in the same place.

The first page of the pamphlet offers three questions to the reader: Who are the Third Estate? How have they had influence this far in politics? And what does the Third Estate want?

The answers to these questions, according to Sieyès is that the Third Estate represents everything, it has never been asked anything when it came to politics, and its only demand is to become something of more importance to the political games being played in Paris and France. 

The pamphlet then offers three additional points of view: what the ministers have tried and what the noblemen are proposing in favor of the Third Estate, what they should have done and what they need to do still.

It is a revolutionary text for its time - Sieyès presents the idea that the third estate represents the complete nation within itself and that the two other estates, the clergy and aristocracy, are unnecessary. Sébastien doesn’t really know how the voting takes place during the États généraux, but when Sieyès had suggested that votes be taken by heads and not by orders, well.. That had caused quite the uproar.

When Sébastien will look back at his time reading the pamphlet, within the secure walls of Versailles, behind guarded gates and with his entire leaflet of privileges before him, he will notice that the piece of paper he had dismissed as uninteresting to him, would come to represent the very fire that will spark the coming conflict, through fire and blood.

* * *

**May 1789**

Sébastien has been coming and going to and from Versailles and Paris more often than not lately.

The États Généraux have convened, and more newspapers are entering the presses. They technically shouldn’t, since an order by the Conseil d’État has forbidden any newspaper to be published without their express authorization. That hasn’t stopped the publishing of the  _ États Généraux _ , first newspaper edited by Mirabeau earlier this month, or the  _ Patriote Francais _ , published by Brissot. Mirabeau is a member of the États Généraux, representing the Third Estate, and had come into office in the beginning of the month. 

Mirabeau had his newspaper seized, but that hadn’t stopped him from continuing to publish reports of what was happening during the negotiations between the different Estates. He writes them as his own letters, dubbing them the _Lettres du comte Mirabeau à ses commettants_. Due to that pressure, the King had allowed the newspapers to go to the press with these reports - it was the best way to avoid another crisis.

And, for that, Sébastien is slightly happy: it allows him to go to Paris to see how the work of presses and newspapers happens. He’s always been fascinated by the way of ink on paper, and the idea of having the power of the written word in his grasp almost makes him drunk on opportunity - if only he knew how to write like these famous thinkers and men around him.

* * *

**June 4th 1789**

The second time that Sébastien gets to witness death first hand, it hits that much faster and harder than the death of Sophie de France.

Where she had died suddenly, without any prior signs, the declining health of her eldest brother had been coming along for a long time. The little Dauphin had been showing signs of illness for years. His breathing had been laboured in the winter months, but the humid heat also made him short of breath, and when he had developed blisters from the treatments that the doctors had been administering him. In 1786, prior to the last time that Sébastien had seen him, he had been ceremonially welcomed into the world of men at age 7. During the ceremony, it had been visible and obvious that the child had issues and that he could barely stand.

The doctors and physicians had made him a spinal support system out of iron, to help him stay upright, but it had seemed that the young Dauphin wasn’t going to make it. The year before, in 1788, the fevers had come back in full throttle, and it seems that the sickness, whatever it was, had run its course through the body of the young king to come.

A month earlier, during the parade of the États-Généraux, he had assisted from a balcony, laying down on a sofa. He had been unable to even stand up. The little prince has been moved to the Château de Meudon shortly after the parade, but the Queen herself is noticing that he isn’t getting better.

And this morning, he hadn’t been breathing anymore.

Sébastien has accompanied the little following of the royal family to Meudon from Paris. They’d hoped that the fresh air would help him get better and get over whatever sickness was ailing him, but the little prince had fallen asleep and hadn’t woken up. Just like his little sister, he had gone onwards, leaving the Queen and the King to mourn.

Waking that morning, Sébastien had known immediately. The hushed whispers of the servants around the castle, and as he had gone outside first thing after waking, he had heard it. The king to come was no more. The Dauphin de France was dead.

His usual routine, where the children would come and listen to him recite some of their favored fables was dismissed immediately, and he was barred from entering any of the buildings which hosted the Royal family. Not that he would ever have dared venture into any of them: he knows his place. Sébastien is, at the end of the day, at the bottom of the food chain, when it comes to the Étiquette de Versailles and the entourage of the Royal Family. Everyone is keen to remind him that the lace and silk around him is not for him, and that he can be kicked out at any given moment.

So, he doesn’t ask when he gets told to move away and give room to the King and Queen to mourn their loss. 

The large gardens of the Château offers the Trivaux Pavillion, which Louis XVI himself had designed, in an Anglo-Chinese style. The pavilion was situated at the top of the green carpet, towards Meudon-la-Forêt. Sébastien doesn’t mind the proximity of the forest at all, this morning. The sun is climbing evermore over the top of the trees, and he thinks it an affront to illuminate the darkness so: the faces around him are torn, broken and sad, and he himself feels his heart break all over again.

It had been a terrible month and year after the passing of little Sophie de France, and to have to go through all of it again… Yes, yesterday the Dauphin had seemed paler and whiter than usual, of what Sébastien had been allowed to see him, but he had still held hope. They were kings, after all, and the bloodline was said to descend from the Almighty himself. Sébastien isn’t exactly the best Christian in the world, and he doesn’t necessarily believe in the powers that be, but this morning, he finds himself walking towards the Pavilion, hoping to find some sort of peace. There, at least, it will be quiet, and he will be able to lament the loss of the Dauphin alone.

As the dawn slowly creeps over the horizon, he sits down and wonders about why. Why does the children have to keep falling ill and die? He sees them around him, the sick ones, the ones who suddenly start spitting blood, suffering from fevers and lose all the flesh on their bones. They call it the white pest, opposed to the black pest which had ravaged the European continent less than a hundred years prior. Sébastien had heard people call them the living dead - once the consumption has taken its toll, there is no way they can heal. They take them to the countryside, hoping that the clear air will help their lungs, but once the first drops of blood pass the lips… they’re as good as dead.

Maybe it’s his fault for believing that Louis-Joseph Xavier François de France was going to be any different. Maybe it’s his own damned fault for thinking that the blood of Kings was going to be stronger against infection than that of regular people like him. But it had the same color as his blood. He’s seen the Madame de Tourzel produce a handkerchief to wipe the Dauphin’s mouth of blood.

It had been as red as Sébastien’s own blood, and he had known, even though he never would have admitted it, that the Dauphin was doomed. It was only a matter of years before the Reaper had come along and ripped the little boy from the clutches of life.

It is cruel that the sun rises above the forest just then, blinding Sébastien as it does, and he thinks to all the moments where he thought he could help. When he distracted the children from the Dauphin’s coughing by making another funny voice, or when he had told them that it was sometimes the best way to get rid of something bad inside of them, and they had been worried about demons and possession and he blamed the clergy for installing the fear of God into them.

But, today, as the sun rises, the Kingdom of France has lost another child, and Sébastien’s heart bleeds. He doesn’t hear the wails coming from the Château, he’s too far away, but he understands it. A parent should never have to lose a child. Ever. It is the greatest burden he can imagine, even in his young age of 19 years old. And, even though he feels his heart break, beating in his chest as he feels the lament in his soul, he can’t understand what must be going through the heart of the King. 

The États Généraux must go on, and the King cannot delay their demands, even though he has just lost a son and heir. The discussions will and must go on, and ever since the opening of the negotiations, things weren’t going well for the King. They had kept underestimating the demands of the Three Estates, and, as history would come to show, this underestimation would cost them dearly.

* * *

**June 8th 1789**

There is no room for the son of a lawyer at the Court after the death of the royal heir, and yet, Sébastien remains. The oldest child, Marie-Thérèse demands his presence, and the Madame de Tourzel dares not oppose her. Marie-Thérèse is stricken with grief, and her younger brother, the Duc de Normandie, doesn’t understand why his older brother is no longer there with them.

He hadn’t understood either why everyone had changed their behavior around him - he was but 4 years old, but he wasn’t just a prince anymore. He was the Crown prince - Louis-Charles de France was now the Dauphin and the future king of France.

The representatives from the États Généraux have all travelled to the Château de Meudon to come and pay their respects to the body of Louis-Joseph. This is the first time that Sébastien sees them in the flesh: there are representations from the First Estate, which represents the entire clergy. The Second Estate, nobility, represents the French nobility and royalty, other than the monarch himself. The Second Estate was usually divided into noblesse d’épée, the nobility of the sword, and the noblesse de robe, the nobility of the robe, mostly a magisterial class. The Third Estate comprises all those who are not members of either of the first two Estates. The États Généraux were summoned by Louis XVI and convened in May of the same year, to discuss taxes. 

They have, sadly, reached an impasse. The demands of each of the Estates cannot be met, and the King seems reluctant to listen to the Third Estate, while the First and Second ones seem afraid to lose their power. Jacques Necker, the Director-General of Finances, focused too much on the fiscal situation, while the Keeper of the Seals of France, Charles Louis François de Paul de Barentin, would discuss and speak on how the États Généraux would operate.

But today, even though the Kingdom seems to be on the verge of imploding on itself, with members of all three Estates demanding more rights, less work, less taxes, more taxes, more war, less war and more, they have all come together in Meudon to pay their final respects. There are too many new faces, he doesn’t know who half of them are, and he doesn’t know what they’re supposed to do, other than sit down and watch the body of a child, cold and dead and blue, and go back to the negotiations they so nicely interrupted for the sake of their king.

Sébastien doesn’t resent them - when he sees the representatives of the Third Estate, he does remember his position in this specific Estate, but he does not approve of their politics. He does not want to be a part of it - maybe it comes from a place of privilege, but he doesn’t… he doesn’t want to think about the future of the Kingdom of France when the Kingdom of France has just lost its future. For years, Louis-Joseph had been the face of the coming change, people hopeful that the new century would spawn new politics and a brighter future for the people. 

All that, ripped away by a cruel play from fate. 

And here they all are, pretending to care, as they kneel in front of the dépouille, passing on empty words of consolation to those who will listen. Sébastien’s heart hurts, for they cannot know: they weren’t there to hear the laugh of the little Dauphin or see his eyes, amused, when he would play the crow from the Corbeau et le Renard, and he feels angry at them. This is their fault. They have been occupying the mind of the King with thoughts of taxes and of changes so long, that the King hadn’t been able to take care of his oldest son.

Every parent in the Kingdom fears the death of their child, and it is a National sadness that seems to have covered the Kingdom of France. There is no way that Sébastien can imagine losing a child - even though his relationship and his presence in the immediate vicinity of the Royal children had always been on borrowed time, he knows that he loves them more than he ever thought he would. 

Maybe that was why his father, Maximilien le Livre, had left him in Paris, in the care of one of his good friends, when he had brought him, many years ago: maybe he had known that there was some sort of relationship to nurture there. But, he couldn’t have known that the Royal Family would hurt and lose so much.

But, maybe, just maybe, Maximilien le Livre had seen something in the way Sébastien used words and thought that perhaps, those words would be able to ease the pain coming ahead. Maybe the skills that Sébastien had honed, in reading and understanding people around him, of seeing how the political and social web around him worked… maybe those skills would help him carve a piece of History for himself and insert the youngest son of a lawyer into the forefront of history.

But not like this, Sébastien thinks. He hasn’t spoken to his father in months - not directly, only through the written word - and for once, he wishes that his father was there to help him and to tell him about why the world was as cruel as it was. But his father is busy in Liège, fighting the same insurgence and the same rise of revolutionary ideas which have contaminated the European continent after their successes in the new world.

Where the Court of France believed in God, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Sébastien had grown up in a more liberal relationship with the God above. If there was a God, who ruled over the Kings and Queens of the Royal Families across the continent and the world, then why would He take an innocent child, if not to be cruel?

What kind of God takes the flesh of His children for Himself, and leaves His children to suffer for it? 

As he watches the representatives from the États généraux come and go, some on horseback, some in carriages, some on foot, Sébastien resents them. He doesn’t understand them. Can’t understand them. He doesn’t want to. All that matters to him now is that a child is dead, and there had been absolutely nothing he could do to help him or save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Louis Joseph](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis_Joseph,_Dauphin_of_France) only lived until the age of 7 - dying right at the dawn of the French Revolution. He died of Tuberculosis, which they also think was the cause of death of Sophie de France, his younger sister. 
> 
> I hope you're able to keep sort of up with the wavy, very saturated time-line of the events leading up to 1789, because boy, trying to discern what was going on ended up being like looking at a diary because new things kept happening every single day (and made fic planning even harder, lol!). 
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments! Did you like the first scene, of Sébastien teaching Marie-Thérèse to write? I loved writing it very much, because it portrayed Booker as a soft and inspired young man. What was your favorite part? 
> 
> As always, [find me on tumblr](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/)!


	3. La Prise de la Bastille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're living through historical events, can you even realize it? For Sébastien le Livre, the fires of the French Revolution are burning off all the things that tied him to Paris. For all the great thinkers and philosophers of the Enlightenment period, they won't be able to stop Paris and France from catching fire when the first sparks of the Révolution begin to burn...   
> But, if anything, Sébastien will not be facing the Révolution on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon typical violence for the chapter, with mentions of lack of food and people starving during the second half of the chapter.   
> There's also a scene taking place outside a church, where a burial is taking place.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, darlings!

**La Révolution Française** : _The French Revolution began in May 1789 when the Ancien Régime was abolished in favour of a constitutional monarchy._

* * *

**June 13th, 1789**

The Third Estate, which had been asking for all the three orders to stay in a single room during discussions, arrived at a resolution to examine and settle the powers of the three orders. 

Sébastien hears from this only vaguely, for he accompanies the body of Louis-Joseph to the basilique Saint-Denis, necropolis of the Kings of France, to be interred. Etiquette forbade the King and Queen from attending, and from what he’s seen in the last 9 days, maybe it was better this way.

Louis XVI is broken with grief - his power and kingdom seems to be crumbling by the minute, and his family has suffered great personal loss in his oldest and heir. 

There are many grieving people around him, and Sébastien isn’t too sure what to do with himself. He hasn’t seen or heard from his father in a long time, and his brother has finally joined the French army, finally reaching the position he had hoped, after a lot of negotiating with generals and, possibly, with a good word put in by the people they had met at the release of _La Marie-Antoinette_ , five years prior. 

“What are we supposed to do now?” a voice next to him asks, and Sébastien moves from the position he’s found. He isn’t allowed into the basilique - he is neither noble, nor clergy, nor high enough in the ranks of aristocracy to be allowed inside. Turning to face the woman whose voice he’s heard, he smiles sheepishly. He doesn’t have any answers at all. Especially not when he recognizes her as the pretty lady in waiting he has had a crush on for years.

She sees the face he makes and puts her hand to her mouth. “I am sorry, I wasn’t actually looking for an answer,” and at that he relaxes a little bit. He is only 19 years old, and even though he is a well educated man in the manners of words and history, he doesn’t know how things are going to move forward from here. 

“Who are you?” she asks, putting out her hand, as if that’s supposed to explain to him who she is. He has no idea, but he has seen her around, generally in the shadow of Madame de Tourzel, taking care of the children as if they were her own. He’s surprised that she’s asking who he is, for he’s pretty sure that she should know it by now - if she had seen him fall off a horse all those months ago, then she knows that Sébastien le Livre is the one who entertains the children while at the same time educating them.

(She does know who he is, and Madame de Tourzel and her may have gossipped about him too - not that she hasn’t noticed him looking at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, but… she definitely has).

He straightens his back and looks at her. He’s wearing as much black as he could find, putting an armband around his sleeve, just to show support. He has known the young Prince for many years, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to even fit into this entire puzzle by the time it’s over. If the puzzle is even left there when the États Généraux conclude. 

Instead of overthinking it, he replies that: “My name is Sébastien le Livre, I’m the one-”

“Who reads the De la Fontaine fables to the children, yes,” she interrupts, and his eyes light up. Even though it’s been a long time since he has read anything of the sort to the young children, he still remembers their love of his impressions. He hasn’t been back to Liège in a long time, he feels more at home in Paris, although nobody in the close circle of the King and Queen will ever let him closer than absolutely necessary. They do, after all, have the greatest teachers that this world can offer, even bringing some in from the Holy Roman Empire, through Queen Marie-Antoinette’s connections to the Emperor himself.

“Yes, that would be me,” Sébastien replies sheepishly again, he doesn’t really know who she is, but he knows that she is present in court too. “May I ask, who you are?”

It’s a big offence not to know the identity of anyone at Court, but Sébastien hadn’t grown up among these scheming spider-webs of relations, and he doesn’t care for the political power. His entire attention is on the wellbeing of the Royal children, and… that isn’t going too well. The woman’s face changes into a smile, and Sébastien’s heart skips a beat. She is truly the most beautiful creature he has ever seen - and he’s seen the Queen up close.

“I am Marie-Louise Chaussée-Tirancourt,” she replies, making a little curtsy of her own.

“Oh, I am no noble, you don’t need that-” he tries, but she interrupts him with her hand.

“You make the children happy, and that is more important than what your blood has given you as a position in this world.” She looks around, as if someone would be spying on them, before leaning forward, “But don’t tell anyone I said that, otherwise they won’t let me back in to see the children,” she says, smile on her lips and laughter in her eyes.

“You come from the Principauté de Liège, yes?” she asks, and with a nod from Sébastien to approve, she continues, “How is it there? Do they care about the politics and stories coming out of Versailles there?”

Sébastien follows her as she starts walking to the side. The burial of the royal child will take a long time, and though the King is busy in the États généraux today, he has no need to entertain Marie-Thérèse or Louis-Charles today. As a matter of fact, he is unsure whether or not he will need to entertain them again: the sickness which took Louis-Joseph de France was thought to have been brought in from outside, and suspicion has run its course throughout the Court.

Which strangers have the illness, whatever it is? Maybe it is a curse? Maybe not? Maybe someone purposely poisoned the children to bring upon the house of Bourbon the wrath of God, much like they believed that the great Bête du Gévaudan had caused havoc to punish Louis XV for draining the finances of the Kingdom and for preaching blasphemy.

(Many, many years later, Sébastien will learn that it was actually Geneviève Poitrine, also known as Madame Poitrine, who had transmitted the deadly tuberculosis to the child. She had been Louis-Joseph’s wet nurse).

“I have not been in Liège for many years,” he replies, thinking very definitely about how he should formulate himself. He doesn’t know why she’s asking - with all the different uproars these past few days in Paris, he isn’t too sure whether or not his status as a foreigner will be seen positively or not.

“Oh, that’s too bad, I so wish to hear from somewhere other than Paris and the damned États généraux… When all of this is over, do you think that you would care for a walk in the Jardins de Versaille?” she asks then, and he feels like he’s been hit across the jaw.

“Yes,” he replies, without giving it a single further thought. He still doesn’t know exactly what her position in court is, but that will come, given time. 

* * *

Marie-Louise Chaussée-Tirancourt, as it turns out, is the younger sister of Honoré Emmanuel Chaussée-Tirancourt*, an elected deputy in the Third Estate, representing their home constituency of Marseille. 

She lives in a shared apartment with her brother in the rue Saint Honoré. They had gone through Paris later that day, after the funeral procession had ended, and stopped to marvel at some of the architecture that Sébastien hadn't noticed in his comings and goings throughout the years. For all he cares about literature and art, he has forgotten that cities are made of it too. 

Over the next few days, Marie-Louise shows him the bakers that she knows on familiar street corners, telling him that if he needs bread to buy it there, but if he needs cake to buy it there. He follows her around the city, listening to her voice describe her relationships with the woman selling fruit on the Marché nearby, and when she takes him to walk across the Jardin des Tuileries, and then down towards the Pont Royal, Sébastien is amazed at how much she knows about the architecture of the city.

He learns that their grandfather was a builder, who had helped build the different bridges across the Seine.

“The Pont Royal,” she explains, “is the third oldest bridge in Paris, you know?” She stops up in the middle of it, avoiding the oncoming traffic of horses, pedestrians and others. “It was built a hundred years ago, replacing the Tuileries ferry, which usually took people across." Looking across the bridge, she points to the Palais des Tuileries, where the King usually stayed, when he was in Paris instead of Versailles. 

* * *

Another day, they agree to meet up at the Place Louis XV**, in order to stroll through the city and the Jardins des Tuileries. The moat-skirted octagon lies between the Champs-Elysées to the west and the Tuileries to the East.

Again, Marie-Louise gives Sébastien a history lesson on the famous avenue, which he has crossed many times, without giving it too much thought.

“It’s called for the Elysian Fields, did you know? It’s where the dead heroes go in Greek mythology,” she then points backwards, all the way up to the end of the avenue. “Louis XIV was the one to commission it built like it is today. It used to be fields and kitchen gardens, but André le Nôtre, a landscape architect and gardener for Louis XVI decided that it should be an extension of the Jardins des Tuileries. He designed the gardens in Versailles, so of course he should know how to create this,” she says, extending her arms around her, and Sébastien looks around at the trees, who are barely a hundred years old now.

“It was extended by the marquis de Marigny, you know,” she continues, “he was Madame de Pompadour’s brother. It didn’t used to go this far, he extended it to the city gate in the Thiers wall.”

* * *

Exploring the city with Marie-Louise feels natural for Sébastien. His happiness when he comes home from his historical lessons through the landscape of the city have been noticed by Roederer who has a little smile on his face whenever he comes home from his strolls through the city.

“You should bring her here sometime,” Roederer says as Sébastien passes the door, after dusk, with a large smile on his face. Sébastien can’t hide the look of surprise on his face at this. He hadn’t expected Roederer to notice it: after all, the man is busy in the États Généraux, trying to figure out how to keep France from going bankrupt, so he’s surprised that he has noticed Sébastien’s frolicking with the young lady in waiting. He doesn’t say anything, as the phrase didn’t need an answer and instead goes straight to the room he has been occupying for quite some time.

* * *

**July 14th, 1789**

It’s not a good time to be in Court. The people of Paris has taken up arms against King Louis XVI after Necker had announced his resignation from the finances, while the Marquis de La Fayette has announced the project of the "Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen", a paper drafted by the Abbé Sieyès and the Marquis de Lafayette, in consultation with Thomas Jefferson. This document is influenced by the natural right doctrine. That is, that the rights of man are universal, valid at all times and in every place. 

(In two years, Olympe de Gouges will pen the "Déclaration des droits de la femme et de la citoyenne", hoping to expose the failures of the upcoming French Revolution in the recognition of gender equality. She will be guillotined and lose her head for it.)

That was three days ago. Two days ago, riots had broken out in Rouen, where the faubourg Saint-Sever had been sacked and over thirty mechanical looms had been destroyed in the manufacture of velours. The riots have reached Paris, agitating the people of the city when the news of Necker’s resignation had reached the public opinion. Two days before, Paris had lost its mind: there had been confrontations in the Tuileries, where the Gardes-francaises had joined the rioters in the face of the cavaliers du Royal-Allemand, a regiment of the French Royal army composed of German speakers. After that, the riots had escalated in the night to the 13th: the stocks of grain had been pillaged, and they’ve opened the prisons. Weapons have been stolen and canons are out in the streets, taken from the Invalides and the Garde-Meuble de la Couronne.

The morning had started through the sound of gunfire and screaming in the streets. Sébastien had left Meudon along with the rest of the Court, but instead of going back to Versailles, he had joined Marie-Louise in her brother’s home in Paris. They live in the Rue Saint Honoré, slightly outside the main city. He can hear the sounds of the people outside. Yesterday, the General de La Fayette had announced that the garde bourgeoise, a civilian and armed force, supposed to keep the peace in the streets, had been renamed and become the Garde nationale instead.

Marie-Louise's brother, Honoré, had stormed out in the morning to go to the Assemblée Nationale. In June, the third Estate, on Sieyès’ urging, had invited the deputies from the two other estates to join them. Some of them, La Fayette from the first estate, and some lower level clergymen from the second estate join the third estate. This had been a jurisdictional revolution: there were no orders, and on June 17th, it had declared itself Assemblée Nationale. Louis XVI had closed the room of negotiations on June 20th in order to disperse the newly founded assembly. As a response, they had gathered in the salle du Jeu de Paume in the quartier du Vieux-Versailles, where they had sworn not to separate until they had written a new constitution for the country. 

The King had ordered them dispersed again, to which they had replied that the Nation could not receive any orders, and Mirabeau had told the King’s representative that they were there for the sake of the people, and they would leave the Assembly only by the strength of bayonets. 

In the beginning of the month of July, German troops had started amassing at the streets of Paris on the orders of the King, who thought that he could no longer trust his French troops. As a response to the King’s handling of the newly created Assemblée nationale constituante, declared on July 9th, Jacques Necker had handed in his resignation. 

How the press had come to interpret this incorrectly as the King sacking Necker instead, neither Sébastien, nor Marie-Louise, nor Honoré have any idea, but the fact of the matter is, the people are angry. If the king has sacked Necker, and that there are foreign troops at their door, what choice do they have but to take up arms?

This morning, there’s the smell of burning wood, animals and chaos in the streets.

Sébastien knows what this means. The people of Paris is angry - the King and the États généraux haven’t helped the problems put forward, scarcity of food, of rights, and the rift between the three Estates have grown deeper and deeper and deeper still, and with the notion from the Enlightenment that all men are born equal… well, that means that the world as they know it is crumbling before their eyes. Marie-Louise looks just as frightened - her neighbors know that she works at Court, and they’re both praying that nobody will come and accuse them of being co-conspirators against the people of Paris. They shouldn’t be in too much danger though: her brother is a member of the Assemblée générale, and everyone knows that Sébastien lives with the Roederer, with Pierre-Louis Roederer himself also an elected member of the Assemblée.

However, they’re still unsure of what their place should be in this whole conflict. Neither of them are from Paris - Sébastien’s accent will betray him the moment someone asks him his name, and Marie-Louise has enough of a reminder from the Langue d’Oc that she would also be put to shame in the streets.

The barrières d’octroi, which kept the city limits clear in the urban planning, have been put to the torch. Voices clamoring outside on the streets are yelling that the Garde nationale and the people of Paris have gone to the Bastille to free the prisoners inside and to steal and gather more weapons and explosive powder.

This is going to end in disaster. 

“What do you think is going to happen?” Marie-Louise asks. They have held hands while walking in the gardens of Versailles, but the intimacy sparked by their forced retreat from the public eye is forcing them to grow closer still. The blinds outside of her windows are open, but they dare not look down into the streets. It’s pandemonium: everyone is screaming different accusations, some asking for the death of the King while others ask for a more controlled reaction. 

Sébastien takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, but nothing good, I think,” is the only answer he can give her.

For the first time, they shared a bed that night. Sébastien doesn’t dare make the trek across town back to the home of the Roederer family, and he refuses to leave Marie-Louise alone on this specific night. It won’t be the last time that they sleep in the same room, but tonight, the fear of the people of Paris growling and snarling outside keeps them confined. She has some leftover bread from the day before, and while she insists that he sleep in the same bed as her for warmth, he lies on the floor, below the window, on a bedcover she has graciously laid out for him.

The ground is hard, but it’s not for that reason that he doesn’t sleep very well. The roar of the angry people outside the window and down in the street turns into cries of joy, with songs and dances played as the people take the Bastille, canons and powder illuminating the dark night sky from the reserves of the prison. 

* * *

**August 26th 1789**

Things have gone from bad to worse. The Grande Peur has spread to the entire country: rural unrest has gone North, South, East and West, and all military, royalist or noble armed forces have been pushed back.

Blood has spilled in the entire country, with the whispers of an aristocratic plot to starve the population and burn it out after the failed crops of the spring. Manors have been attacked throughout the country, from Nantes and Mans in July, to Clermontois and Ruffec at the end of the month, with Lourdes, Nîmes and others in August.

The night of the 4th of August, privileges have been abolished. The King has appeared publicly since the first riots in Paris and since the Bastille was stormed, but his brother, the Comte d’Artois has fled the country, while the Général des finances Foullon and the intendant de Paris, Bertier de Savigny have been killed. Necker has, in the wake of all this, returned as minister of finances…

Sébastien hears from the insurrection in Liège through whispers, barely daring to go outside of their home, whether it is the apartment in the rue Saint Honnoré or the home of the Roederer family. He hasn’t been caught as a traitor yet - nobody knows exactly what he did at Court, and those who knew don’t blame him. The children are not to be blamed for what their father has done to this country, he hears. He doesn’t know if it’s meant for him or for Marie-Louise. He has refused to let her out of his sight when she goes out to get food. He crosses the city before dawn in order to be there when she leaves her home to go get food, chaperoning her. In his mind, it is to protect her, but it is also to see how Paris is reacting to all of this.

Food and grain is scarce, the people have burned crops and yield, and he is beginning to feel the flesh on his bones melting away. He has never really missed or wanted for anything, but this… this is making him reconsider. They’ve declared martial law in Marseille, for Christ’s sake.

He is 19 years old now, he should be on the streets fighting against the Royalists, but he doesn’t. He stays out of sight, doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t debate anyone. He just wants food and to go back to the way things were before all of this...

At the Assemblée Nationale, Mirabeau has read the "Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen". This text will serve as a guide in the founding of a new Constitution, which the King will need to sign. The way the country is run is about to change, and the sound of canons and gunfire echo in Sébastien’s head. He doesn’t like violence - never has - and this is testing him, further than he had thought it would. 

* * *

**October 21st 1789**

Martial law has been applied in Paris. The last few months have been… terrible. 

Danton had called for insurrection, after the King and Queen had hosted a dinner party in the castle. Posted around the walls of the city, printed pages asked the people of Paris to revolt against the powers that be.

And, thus, at the beginning of the month of October, women had stormed Versailles, asking the King for bread. He had replied positively to the demands, and in response, the people of Paris had demanded that the Garde Nationale, controlled by La Fayette, take over duties in keeping the Royal family safe. They had asked for bread, and it is said that the Queen had told them to have brioche instead. That had angered the people even more, calling her _L'Autrichienne_ instead of the Queen, and they had called for her head. 

In the end, the Royal family and the King had decided to come with the people to Paris, installing themselves in the palais des Tuileries after the people had stormed the castle, fully intent on massacring the royal family.

Sébastien can’t do anything but watch as the family and the children he has spent the last many years caring for are pushed around. Worse still, the Club breton had taken residence in the Couvent des Jacobins, next door to Marie-Louise’s home. They’ve taken the name "Société des amis de la Constitution", and the proximity of their leaders unnerves Sébastien, even though he lives with one of them. The founders of the Société count La Fayette, Mirabeau, Sieyès, Talleyrand, Brissot and Robespierre, as well as Roederer. It is not because he distrusts all of them - he knows Roederer and Sieyès well enough to know that they wouldn’t dare do anything to him or Marie-Louise, but it is Talleyrand, the minister for foreign affairs, and Robespierre which unnerves him.

Some of them know Sébastien from his work at the castle, but mostly they know him as the son of Maximilien le Livre and the brother of Donatien le Livre. Sébastien hasn’t heard from his father in months, and his brother has been missing too. He had been sent to the Province in the wake of the uprisings there, and the paper trail had gone cold after that. In a letter he received from his father, he had learned that nobody knew of the fate of his older brother. There has been no news in a long time, and somehow, Sébastien thinks that it is bad news. The revolution has reached Liège too, insurrected against the Holy Roman Empire and its leaders, and… he hasn’t gone back there to see how his family is doing.

He’s stayed here, in the Rue Saint Honoré with Marie-Louise, for she too, has been getting looks, screams and been called slurs by the people she thought were her good neighbors. In spite of her brother trying to calm them down. But, those who are starving don’t care for politics nor how things are supposed to go: all they care about is that they are hungry. Give them bread, Sébastien hopes, but there is no bread to give.

“What are they talking about now?” she asks, coming from the bed to find Sébastien looking out of the window. She’s holding a bedcover over her shoulders, the cold of the night keeping her awake. Sébastien hasn’t slept for days, it seems, although he’s pretty sure that he has been getting sleep here and there. They’ve been practically confined to the room for days, since their last outing for something other than food. He hasn’t had anything to eat, leaving her the little bread they had been able to get the last time they had dared face the people of Paris.

They can’t leave anyway, there are armed guards in the streets, and if anyone caught a whiff of their previous employment at Court, they would be shot on sight. Or worse.

“Someone, I think he’s a doctor,” Sébastien starts, letting the curtains fall as someone in the crowd looks up, “he’s created something. It’s a way to make it easier to execute traitors,” he continues, looking back at Marie-Louise. Her beautiful face is hollower still today, and he wouldn’t be surprised to feel her ribs against his fingers when they lie together in the bed they have been sharing for months now.

“Is it the Docteur Guillotin***?” she asks, forcing him to turn around and away from the window. He nods, and she sighs. “He has been developing it for a long time, more than ten years. I don’t think it will make executions more efficient, I think it will make it easier for people to commit murder in the name of justice,” she continues and Sébastien doesn’t even dare say anything against her.

Her words will ring true with time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * **Honoré Emmanuel Chaussée-Tirancourt** , Marie-Louise's brother, doesn't exist, he's made up. I may or may not have taken a couple of deputies contemporary of the story and mixed them together to create this character, but he's an original character brought in for the sake of the story.
> 
> ** **The Place Louis XV** is actually the Place de la Concorde - its name will change from Place Louis XV with the Révolution to the " _Place de la Révolution_ " before being changed to " _Place de la Concorde_ " during the Directory in 1975, back to Place Louis XV during the Restauration and then back to the Place de la Concorde. Concorde is a French word from the latin "Con" + "Cordia," meaning "with the heart".   
> The Place de la Révolution is where many executions took place during the French Revolution, so next time you're reading a book or seeing a movie about the French Revolution, when they mention the Place de la Révolution, you'll know that it actually is the Place de la Concorde and not some obscure plaza somewhere in the city! 
> 
> *** You can almost guess what the **Docteur Guillotin** invented by looking at his name.
> 
> About **Olympe de Gouges** , you should definitely check out what she wrote in [her Déclaration](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Declaration_of_the_Rights_of_Woman_and_of_the_Female_Citizen): " _Woman is born free and remains equal to man in rights. Social distinctions may only be based on common utility._ " Imagine writing that in 1791! Absolutely mindblowing. 
> 
> NOW - How did you like this chapter? It's a little bit shorter than the previous ones, but I felt that ending it here was the best way to go about it. I am so happy that you finally met Marie-Louise, she's been dancing inside my head ever since I started writing this fic and she's absolutely wonderful (even if she's made up, lol).
> 
> What was your favorite part of the fic? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> As always, find me [on tumblr](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/) ♥


	4. His Majesty the King, Louis Auguste de France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the fires of revolution catch on, there's no way to stop them - but can a democracy be born out of so much blood and fire? The Royal Family isn't safe in the Tuileries anymore, but will an escape attempt prove them right, or will they prove them wrong? As the Révolution marches on, Sébastien le Livre gets his first forging commission, in the hope of saving lives.  
> But will it be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant violence in this chapter, including a description of a guillotine being used.

**June 25th 1791**

It’s been almost two years since the French monarchy fell. In less than 24 months, the world around Sébastien had shifted from safe and secure to unsafe and dangerous. 

But the general feeling of animosity towards the King, the Queen and royalists has never been higher than it is today. 

The King and his family are being brought back into Paris after their botched attempt to escape Paris and France and reach Montmédy, where a royalist bastion would have helped them helm a counter-revolution.

Sadly, things hadn’t worked out. Paris has been angry since the storming of the Bastille, and the King’s popularity has dwindled ever since. The whole escape had been orchestrated by the King himself and Count Axel von Fersen, a Swedish favorite of Marie-Antoinette. The safety of the Royal family has been enhanced throughout the last months, and they have been staying at the Tuileries instead of Versailles. Versailles was too far away for the Garde Nationale to keep an eye on them, and thus, escaping would prove too difficult. 

But, Marie-Louise, who had worked with the children and who was a woman, had been into the Tuileries to meet with the family. She had brought news back to Sébastien, who hadn’t dared flee back to Liège, plagued by its own revolution in time. He is, in all intents and purposes, a man without a home: he doesn’t belong in France, and he can’t go home. He hasn’t heard from his father in months, and his brother… well, when rumors of the Royal army being butchered in the provinces had reached Paris, Sébastien had given up hope on his brother. If his father doesn’t hear from anyone, then it is almost certain that Donatien has died fighting against the Revolutionaries. 

“He’s going to be killed for this,” Marie-Louise tells him that morning, as the sun is high on the sky. 

Sébastien dares not say anything. Mirabeau had died in April of the same year, and the tensions around the King’s wishes to celebrate Easter in Saint-Cloud had clouded the judgement of the people of Paris: they had thought he had tried to escape then, and had left him even more imprisoned after that.

“Don’t say that,” Sébastien replies to her, as he sits down at the little working table, that he has set up through the last couple of weeks. Axel de Fersen had commissioned passports for the King, the Queen and their children, Madame de Tourzel, Madame Elisabeth, Louis XVI’s sister and three servants. There had been some back and forth between who would be the one to write and create the passports, and when, in the dead of night, someone had come knocking on the door of Marie-Louise Chaussée-Tirancourt asking for the writer and forger, well…

Sébastien le Livre had accepted in making his first fake documents. The career as forger would go on well into the new centuries, but this first job had been his most important and most decisive one. Paper, ink and more had been provided, left in the street, behind carts and hidden, as Marie-Louise would go to the markets and gather food for the both of them, and taking advantage of the daylight, Sébastien had gotten to work.

De Fersen had provided him with a previous laissez-passer which he would work out from, and he had perfected the writing, the tone, the ink strokes and more over the course of a couple of weeks, able to perfectly imitate the penmanship of whoever had written the papers first. When he presented the papers to the servant who came to gather them, three days prior to the planned escape, he had been told that his help would be appreciated until the end of time.

After all, Axel de Fersen had been one of Marie-Antoinette’s favorites at court, and by the time that the Royal family had been brought back to Paris, a warrant had been put out for his arrest. 

“He is, they’re going to kill him. And the Queen too,” Marie-Louise continues, and Sébastien doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she must be wrong. For all they’ve done, they can’t guess what will happen now that the King has been arrested and is being brought back to Paris in chains. They’re going to throw him and his family in prison, that much they know, but… there is no way to know how long they are going to survive the guillotine. 

The news had broken in the early hours of the morning that the King had been arrested in Varennes, less than 31 miles from Montmédy. They had been so close. So close. Sébastien can feel his sanity on the verge of breaking - they had all gone through so much secrecy, so much hiding, and he had put his own skin on the line and it had all been for naught. Someone had recognized the King and that had been enough to foil the plan.

The revolutionary crowd is growling in the streets. “They’re taking them to the Tuileries,” Marie-Louise says, as she comes to sit on the bed. Sébastien still has ink stains on his fingers from his last attempt to write something, anything, that could prove that the King left in good faith.

(The King had written the Declaration to the French People, a 16 page long manuscript, much like a testament to the French people, about why he had decided to leave. La Fayette would censor the text, and the Assemblée would keep it hidden from public view for years. It is only many, many years later, in May 2009, that some of the last public words of the King will be rediscovered.)

On the morning of the 20th, rumors had flourished that the King had been kidnapped. Knowing that to be untrue and not daring to go face the crowd outside, Sébastien had remained confined in the little room that he had been calling home for three years. Whether the neighbors knew about his affiliation or not, he didn’t know, but he knew that they cared for Marie-Louise. Perhaps they let him be in peace because he made her happy, and because he was a fine young man.

“They’re going to be killed for this,” Marie-Louise repeats, and Sébastien moves from the little wooden chair by the table to sit next to her to the bed. Taking her hand in his, he looks at her, and he knows that he sees the same sadness in her eyes that she sees in his.

“There’s nothing we can do,” he says, the only reply he can give to her. They don’t say much for the rest of the day, as the crowd grows louder outside their window, and by the time the bells ring six in the evening, they know the royal cortège has reached Paris, because silence falls on the city, as the garde nationale has gone through the streets, decreeing silence: anyone who would dare welcome the King back to Paris would be hung. La Fayette had been strict, and thus, the silence seems to suffocate everyone.

There are those who still wish for things to go back to the way they were - too much innocent blood has already been spilt, and the risk of losing the King and Queen to this revolutionary madness doesn’t fall well upon many of the aristocrats of the Third Estate who have gained power throughout the revolution.

* * *

**July 17th 1791**

It’s the first time in years that Sébastien has dared venture outside, knowing that he will be recognized. The laissez-passer that he had made for the King and Queen have been analyzed, looked through, and the Revolutionaries, led by La Fayette, are looking for the person who had made them. Nobody had ever paid Sébastien any attention though, and he will probably keep this to himself for many years to come still.

But, today, Sébastien has gone to the Champ de Mars to see for himself what is happening. Ever since the botched escape attempt, the powers of rule had been stripped and reattributed to the King by the Assemblée, and that had made the people of Paris, led by the Cordeliers themselves, very mad indeed. The Club des Cordeliers, also called the société des Amis des droits de l’homme et du citoyen, had amassed between 3000 and 4000 people on the Champ de Mars to read a declaration, asking for the Assemblée to strip the powers of the King yet again. It is a threat to the Assemblée: if they do not accept, there will be a new insurrection.

Among the leaders of the Club des Cordeliers is Danton, Marat and Desmoulins, all men of powers and of words, and even though Sébastien dislikes them for their anti-royalist stances, he admires their passion and knowledge of oration. 

However, today, in spite of the Commune de Paris issuing an order against all gatherings, Sébastien has left the safety of their little home, in spite of martial law being appointed by La Fayette everywhere. He could be arrested for being outside and seeking to know what will happen, but at this point, Sébastien is tired of waiting: he needs to know what is happening for himself, instead of yelling out of the window with passers-by in the street below or by the news that Marie-Louise or her brother bring home after having gone to help her friends with work.

The Champ-de-Mars is packed with people, and Sébastien has never been happier to have found clothes making him look like a Parisian than he is now: as long as nobody speaks to him, they won’t know that he doesn’t belong here. He has been trying to perfect getting rid of his accent, to sound like all the ones around him, but a good ear will still be able to hear that no, he does not come from Paris. And anyone who isn’t from Paris is a potential spy for the King, for the Holy Roman Empire, for Austria… And he doesn’t want to see himself arrested for being a foreigner.

It is mostly calm for now, Sébastien has realized. Most of all, he wishes to see if he can find a familiar face, to hear news from anywhere other than the streets and the clamors of the crowd, but in a city as large as Paris, it is almost as hard a task as finding a needle in a haystack. All the faces that he knew, he knew in the immediate vicinity of the Royal family, and, truly, he does not know as many people as his father did. And, even if he did, they would not know him or recognize him, and any power that a foreign lawyer would have had has been lost to him.

Foolish boy, Sébastien thinks, always buried in books, thinking about words and history, when the world around him was crumbling by the minute. He’s standing alone, by the edge of the Champ de Mars, watching the crowd, until drums begin sounding the retreat at the entrance to the Champ de Mars. It’s the Garde nationale, and they’re holding the red flag of martial law in front of them. Picking up the jacket that he is wearing, Sébastien hopes to leave the area before all hell breaks loose, but somehow, even that will be denied to him: a shot rings out, and before he knows it, panic has grasped the thousands of demonstrators in the Champ de Mars.

Sébastien barely has the time to see La Fayette push his horse in front of the canons to keep his National guard from shooting at the crowd, but he’s pushed to the ground

By the time that Sébastien comes home, he is out of breath, has fallen to his knees and hurt his hands too many times to count, while anywhere between 10 and 400 people have been shot by guns and canons. 

“Thank God you are alive,” Marie-Louise claims, the moment he walks through the door. He never tells her that someone died protecting him from a cannon blast. He had sworn that he would never take part in a war, that was the business of his brother, and yet, there he had been. Right in the smack middle of an ongoing civil war, and he had held no regard for his own survival. Truly, he should have known better. 

But he hadn’t. He had been too curious.

* * *

**August 10th, 1792**

“What has happened?”

Sébastien asks, the moment that Pierre-Louis Roederer passes the door to his home. He’s heard the commotion all day, and the fate of the Royal family is still uncertain.

Roederer looks torn, tired, but he doesn’t look defeated.

“The King is safe,” is all that he’s able to say, as he throws his jacket off and onto a chair in the apartment. As the président of the Jacobin club, Roederer is on the chopping block for whatever pro-royalist action he takes. The people, especially the Commune de Paris, will not forget it, if he dares to oppose them in their efforts to get rid of the royal family.

Roederer takes a deep breath. “The Garde Nationale and the fédérés from Marseille and Bretagne stormed the Tuileries. The Swiss Guards are almost all dead. But, we managed to get the King and his family to the Legislative Assembly. They will be safe as long as there are deputies in their seats. But…” His phrase dies out, and Sébastien, eyes wild, takes a step forward.

“But what?!” he demands, even though he knows it is not his place to demand answers.

“The Assembly has announced the suspension of the King. The King is no longer a king, but a citizen, like you and me. They’re going to send him to the Maison du Temple, him and the Queen and the children.”

Roederer looks up at Sébastien, who looks as if he’s about to explode. “I was the one to convince them to leave the Tuileries, so before you dare tell me that I didn’t do enough, I will let you know that Marat has emitted an arrest order on me here tonight, Le Livre. Don’t presume to know better.”

There’s a pause, where Sébastien bites his tongue in order not to say something he is going to regret almost immediately.

“At least, they’re still alive,” Roederer mutters. He wipes his face, the sweat glistening on his forehead. Louise, his wife and his children have left for Metz - the agitation of the previous months have been enough to spook them away from the capital.

“What will you do now?” Sébastien asks. If Roederer needs to flee the capital as well, Sébastien will go and live with Marie-Louise and her brother. He cannot leave - not when the Royal family has been thrown into jail. Their lives are still at stake.

“I don’t know, but I think I will go back to Metz. I doubt the Assembly will let a trial go forth, but with how it is looking, I don’t think that it will be safe to remain in the capital in the coming months. The Convention is losing power, with opportunists trying to gather the executive power. Robespierre has been elected to the Commune de Paris as a representative for the Section des Piques. He has plans to instaure a Revolutionary Tribunal to deal with the traitors and enemies of the people - I think that I will go back to Metz. Nobody knows what Robespierre considers a traitor, and with an arrest order in my name I doubt that I will remain safe here. You should leave too, Le Livre,” Roederer suddenly says, moving across the room.

“And you should leave soon.”

And with that, the discussion ends, as Sébastien watches the man he has considered a great friend and mentor throughout many years begin to throw papers, quills, ink and clothes into a bag. This time, there is no other way than go into hiding.

* * *

**January 21st 1793**

The past year has been an absolute nightmare. Sébastien has taken up work as a full time writer and journalist in one of the presses. There’s new newspapers coming out, and with his skills in reading and writing, he had been in high demand the very second that his knowledge had become somewhat public knowledge.

His nickname, Le Livre, was serving him well this time, and he appreciated shifting out the name of Sébastien. Marie-Louise and him had moved slightly away from Paris in the beginning of the year, but had come back when the royal family had sent to the Prison du Temple, an ancient fortress in Paris that was currently used as a prison. Between that and the botched attempt at a coup by La Fayette in the spring, the war declaration on the Holy Roman Empire and Austria, and the Bataille de Valmy, the establishment of the Republic it had been… well.

A draining year.

But, with his work in the presses of Paris, Sébastien had managed to gather some sort of traction with the Girondins, a political faction of the French Revolution. He has been coming and going as he wishes when possible, but today, there is no good news to bring to the salons. Everyone knows - the convention had voted on the fate of the King on the 15th of the month.

Sébastien had helped print the papers announcing the results.

The King had been sentenced to death by the Tribunal by a one vote majority, given, as it had been, by Philippe Égalité, formerly cousin of the King himself. 361 of the deputies had voted for immediate execution, whereas 288 had voted against death and for some other alternative. The remaining had voted for the death penalty but with delays and reservations.

And, today, Sébastien has joined both the revolutionaries and the monarchists on the Place de la Révolution to witness the death of a King that he once knew privately. The king is only 38 years old, and on this terrible and fateful Monday, he would suffer death by guillotine.

Sébastien had no words: watching the king mounting the scaffold and proclaiming that he was innocent of the Treason he was accused of, hoping that his blood would not fall back on France. And, while the King had seemed to want to say more to the crowd which had amassed on the Place de la Révolution, the general of the National Guard, Antoine-Joseph Santerre, ordered a drum roll and precipitated the execution.

There are children in the trees around them, they’ve climbed up to get a view of the action, and at the windows around the Place, there are more faces than Sébastien has ever seen in one place. Everyone has come to see the King lose his head and everyone wants a first class ticket. Sébastien feels sick to his stomach.

Today is the first time that Sébastien sees the guillotine in action - it won’t be the last. But, as he watches the blade levied upwards, and the king be put down and secured on a horizontal bench, head at the ready, Sébastien can feel the bile in his mouth.

All this blood spilled for nothing. Over bread and over finances - was one life worth all this? And would killing the King himself really solve their problems?

There’s a gasp in the crowd, Sébastien blinks, watches some swallows take off from the rafters of one of the buildings on the side of the Place de la République, and the King is no more.

There’s a sudden movement in the crowd and, just like previously on the Champ de Mars, Sébastien almost finds himself on all fours, trampled by the crowd. Some madness has taken them, he thinks, as he gets up again, gets a grip, and watches men and women pull out handkerchiefs in the hopes of dipping it in the blood of the King.

Hats are flying high in the air, thrown by those around him in a jolt of joy, while canons are lit and fired up ahead. The body of the king is thrown into a wooden box, his head collected in a basket filled with sawdust to keep the blood from spilling too far.

In the back of his mind, Sébastien thinks of Louis-Charles and his mother, Marie-Antoinette and sister, Marie-Thérèse, imprisoned, unable to part ways with their father and husband with dignity. Long live the King, Sébastien thinks, as he turns from the Place de la Révolution and heads back to the little apartment that he and Marie-Louise have rented from Madame Roland.

The King is dead, long live the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Flight to Varennes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flight_to_Varennes) is one of those moments in history where I always think back " _if they had just made it, how different would our world look right now?_ " It's tragic, but it is how it is.  
> As for the Death of the King, well. You can watch the scene of it from the Révolution Francaise movie [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCeRnbhvSnk), and you'll even recognize Sir Christopher Lee as Antoine-Joseph Santerre. 
> 
> How did you like this chapter? What was your favourite part? I liked the part where Booker's first forgery was a matter of national importance - and it may (or may not) come back and cause troubles for him in later chapters... Let me know what you liked best in the comments, and as always, find me on [tumblr ♥](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (ps: _you can also subscribe to this fic at the top of the page so you get an email notification when it updates! ☼_ )


	5. His Majesty, the King, Louis XVII aka Louis-Charles de France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Révolution has become Terreur, and heads are rolling everywhere. Maximilien de Robespierre has taken control of the new Republic with his Comité de Salut Public, and it is only a matter of time before something ignites the passions of the French people again.  
> Sébastien le Livre is caught up in a war between two sides, but in the midst of it, light will shine on him. And, eventually, he will meet a general, who will become consul, and then emperor. For this is the time when Sébastien le Livre and Napoléon Bonaparte play a battle of wits against each other - for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant violence & problems. The chapter has a scene of Sébastien visiting a starving and sick child, so appropriate warnings for that.

_**La Terreur (Convention):** The Reign of Terror, commonly The Terror, was a period of the French Revolution when, following the creation of the First French Republic, a series of massacres and numerous public executions took place in response to revolutionary fervour, anticlerical sentiment, and accusations of treason by the Committee of Public Safety._

  
**25 Vendémiaire, Year II (October 16th, 1793)**

The Comité de salut public will not be able to save the country. That much is true, for at its head sits Maximilien Francois Marie Isidore de Robespierre, a lawyer and statesman who Sébastien has watched from afar. Aside from being a namesake of Sébastien’s own father, Robespierre is one of the most important men in the French Revolution. 

The Comité de salut public has been created to protect the new republic against foreign attacks and internal rebellion, and with how it is going, it seems that Robespierre counts on taking the heads off most of his opponents and anyone who stands in his way.

Today, Sébastien stands in the Place de la Révolution yet again. He has watched countless others die, and every time his innards churn. Watching someone die is never easy and will never become easy. But, this time, it is Marie-Antoinette who will lose her head.

Robespierre had set up a mock trial of the former queen, expedited for the sake of getting rid of her, after sending off her son and the future King to become a revolutionary in the care of Antoine Simon, a shoemaker. Sébastien had hoped to meet the shoemaker and watch the young boy, hoping he would remember him as the one who read him fables and made funny voices, but the boy had been lost.

Too many horrible things had happened around him, and he was sick. The sickness that had taken his little sister and older brother had taken its toll on him as well, and he had been manipulated into accusing Marie-Antoinette, his own mother, of incest.

Sébastien had followed the open cart from the Conciergerie via the rue Saint-Honoré, where he had lived with Marie-Louise prior to leaving it, and right back to where he had seen the King lose his head. 

The angled blade fell after she apologized to her executioner for stepping on his shoe, and Sébastien felt something break inside his heart.

* * *

**9 Thermidor, Year II (July 27th, 1794)**

Sébastien has never been to the Prison du Temple. He has seen it, passed by it, in the hopes of getting a glimpse of the Royal children, of Marie-Thérèse.

But today is different. Today, he is going to visit the Temple with none other than Paul Francois Jean Nicolas, vicomte de Barras. 

Sébastien still isn’t sure how it happened, but somehow, someone had told the politician that Sébastien would be able to recognize the young Dauphin. Rumors had begun circulating that after Antoine Simon had given up Louis-Charles, that he had given up another boy: that the young child imprisoned in the Temple wasn’t the young Dauphin. Maybe it had been someone from the salons, maybe it had been one of the few servants from Versailles who had survived this far… but nobody knew where the rumors had started.

But the fact of the matter is that Sébastien is being brought in to confirm whether or not the young boy who has been left barricaded in a dark room, like a wild animal, is indeed the Dauphin de France.

“You know the boy?” Barras had demanded of Sébastien upon their first meeting.

Nodding, Sébastien hadn’t dared say anything else: “My father, Maximilien le Livre, knew the King and Queen. I came to court to celebrate Sophie de France’s first birthday carrying a present for her, and I have been present in Court until…” his voice fades, and Barras’ face turns grim.

“Now is not the time to lose faith, le Livre,” he claims and Sébastien feels slightly more courageous. 

“You will be able to recognize him?” the politician asks, and Sébastien nods. “He will look different from the last time you saw him, no doubt, but you will recognize him, yes?”

“How different?” Sébastien asks, and Barras makes a grimace, searching for words to define how different indeed the boy would be.

“He hasn’t seen anyone for the last six months. Robespierre visited Marie-Thérèse in May, but the Dauphin has been kept isolated by Robespierre on purpose. I don’t know the details of the how and why, but I know that he hasn’t left his room for many weeks. He will no doubt bear the marks of torment in the prison, and losing both a father and a mother will have caused him a great deal of pain. Doctors have also said that his illness has been progressing at an alarming rate.”

Sébastien takes it all in. 

Louis-Charles had been such a sweet child - all smiles, happy and with a laugh that sounded like bells. The idea that he would have been imprisoned without the possibility of getting out or seeing anyone else made Sébastien more angry than he had ever thought he could be. Perhaps this shows in his eyes, for Barras puts his hand on Sébastien’s shoulder. They are about to enter the Prison du Temple, and now is not the time for Sébastien to lose his cool. If too many people find out that they have been here, and if the plans to arrest Robespierre tomorrow fail, it will be both of their lives on the line.

The doors to the prison open and letting them in are some of the jailers, who recognize Barras as an authority. Sébastien follows them, hoping none of them will recognize him or remember his face for the future - being a friend of the Royal family, even formerly, was punishable by death. Too many of those Sébastien and Marie-Louise had known had been guillotined or killed by mobs and insurrections throughout the last couple of years.

The door to the prison is locked, and when Barras demands it unlocked, Sébastien watches two different guards go for the keys, neither of them finding it until a third comes forth. “The boy hasn’t eaten today,” he announces rather sheepishly, like they’ve been caught in the middle of something they shouldn’t have been doing, but Barras dismisses it.

“Open it up, he is not an animal.” 

“He’s only nine years old,” Sébastien finds himself saying and the three jailers look at him, up and down, as if committing his face and body to memory. The fear of reprisals suddenly causes Sébastien to sweat - if he wasn’t nervous before, he is so now.

“Open the door,” Barras commands, and Sébastien watches as the door is finally pushed open.

The room is… not as bad as Sébastien had been thinking it would be, but not as well as it should have been. The young Dauphin is sitting on the floor, looking up at the wall, ignoring them as they enter the room, mesmerized by something on the tiles perhaps. 

“Do your work,” Barras orders Sébastien, who passes by him, enters the room, illuminated by candle light, and steps forward. He remains behind the little boy, trying not to let his anger take over. These are no conditions for a child, especially not a sick child. 

“Hey, Louis,” he says, and prays that none of the others correct him for the breach of étiquette. You do never call a king by his first name without the proper titles he had been told at court over and over and over again, right up until the royal children themselves had told him to call them by their first names.

Perhaps it’s the familiarity of his accent, but the Dauphin turns his head, eyes wild, as if unable to focus, until they finally realize that yes, it is Sébastien.

“Hey, shhhh,” Sébastien coos, as he kneels to be at the same level as the child. Louis-Charles is trembling - whatever sickness has taken a toll on his body, it is the same as his older brother. He will be dead within the year, that much Sébastien knows.

“Sébastien!” the boy cries, trying to get to his feet, ending up on all fours, and practically crawling to reach Sébastien. Sébastien is too aware of the many eyes on his back, both Barras but also the three jailors who have not been asked to leave. Everything he says, does or tries is being watched, and he knows that if he does anything that could be interpreted as anti-Republican, he will be shot in the back. 

So, he carefully lets the boy climb closer to him.

“Shh, see, here, you can sit here,” Sébastien offers, pushing himself from his knees to his ass, offering his lap to the boy.

The boy looks up to him, then past Sébastien and at the men behind him in the door. “Where is mother?” the young Dauphin asks, and Sébastien feels his heart break. He must know, mustn’t he? He must know that Marie-Antoinette has been killed, that his mother is no more. “And where is Marie? They tell me she’s here, but she never comes to visit!” Louis-Charles asks, pointing at the guards behind Sébastien. 

Sébastien doesn’t turn his head around to watch, because he keeps his eyes on the boy. He is covered in marks, scars and scabs, and if he dared, he would kill the men behind him. The prince is nothing but a bag of bones, waiting for the flicker of life within to die out. Whatever hope the Royalists still alive have of seeing the lineage of the King restored… it will die with Louis XVII, the one King who will never have been able to ascend the throne.

“Your mother is-”

“Your mother has been taken away,” Barras interrupts, and Sébastien bites his tongue. The interruption was welcome, because it keeps him from lying to the little boy, but it still… the eyes of the boy are on him, not on Barras. Every single one of Sébastien’s reactions is being weighed against what the others are saying, and he cannot - he must not - show the boy that he is in distress. That would be too much.

“How are they treating you here?” Sébastien asks, as the boy readjusts his weight on Sébastien’s lap.

“I eat when I can, and they don’t hurt me too much,” the Dauphin says, looking down at his hands. Maybe he doesn’t realize that being hit and cut and treated like a mule isn’t part of being a child, maybe he does. Whichever the case, he seems to understand that there is no use in saying that he is being treated unwell. 

“Clean him up and give him new clothes,” Barras says. “Le Livre, you have done your job, but it is time to leave now.”

It’s not a question, it’s an order. That much Sébastien can understand from it.

“Are you leaving me?” the boy asks, and Sébastien’s heart breaks.

Nodding, he can’t help an answer. “I have to, but this man here, Barras, he will take care of you now. You will have a better room, and you will get a new attendant, yes?” Sébastien asks, turning his head towards Barras who nods. “It’s a man from Martinique, a creole. You’ll see, they’ll treat you nicely and get you better,” Sébastien lies through his teeth. Not about the treatment of the Dauphin - if all goes well tomorrow, the fate of the royal children should be less frightening. If Robespierre is indeed arrested and brought before a tribunal, the royal children will be slightly free again.

He lies about the boy getting better. He’s seen this before first hand. Whatever sickness had a hold of the boy’s body was ravaging it, and he would be gone soon. 

“Le Livre, let’s go,” Barras informs him, and Louis-Charles climbs off his lap, the order also directed at him. There are no remarks, no further questions, nothing. The boy simply stands to the side, allowing Sébastien to stand up as well. 

“Promise you won’t forget me,” the Prince says and Sébastien nods.

“I won’t, little prince. I promise I won’t.”

* * *

**10 Thermidor, Year II (July 28th 1794)**

Robespierre had failed his own suicide. Sébastien would learn with time that leaders were more likely to botch their deaths, but even this makes Sébastien happy.

The mob around the Place de la Révolution are no longer calling Robespierre a hero, but a traitor and a monster: he himself has taken more heads than all of France during this Revolution, or so it seems. When the man himself shows up, in one of the three carts bringing the convicts of the day, Sébastien feels both disgusted and happy at the sight: Robespierre has been given a fabric piece to settle around his face, hiding the botched gunshot wound to his head.

“Open your eyes!” Sébastien finds himself screaming at this man of the Terreur, who has dared walk from the cart and up to the scaffold with his eyes closed. Hiding from the beast he has created. Sébastien is angry, more angry than he has ever been in reality: this man deserves to die, but the guillotine is too easy. He should be allowed to suffer, the wounds in his face to fester and everything to become torture, as he realizes that nothing he has done has helped the nation of France.

Charles-Henri Sanson, the executioner, who has become quite a celebrity for executions in the Place de la Révolution, removed the bandage holding Robespierre’s jaw together right before setting the man under the angled blade, and Sébastien will forever rejoice in the agonising scream that the man produces as he does so.

When the blade of the guillotine finally cuts off the head of the snake, Sébastien is among those throwing hats in the air: applause and joyous cries arise, as if it had been a tyrant killed. There’s a sigh of relief amongst everyone, and even Sébastien feels it. Now that the man is no more, perhaps Paris and France will be able to breathe a little more clearly. 

* * *

**6 Floréal, Year III (April 25th 1795)**

Never in his life has Sébastien felt more relieved at the sound of someone crying. Never before.

It’s been exactly nine months since the head of Robespierre rolled off the scaffold of a guillotine, and this, it had been exactly nine months since Sébastien and Marie-Louise had sealed their fate to one another by sharing the pleasure of carnal love. 

Celebrating the end of the Terreur by watching the man responsible for over 17,000 deaths suffer the same fate as those he executed had brought them into a frenzy of happiness and well…

Here, nine months later, Sébastien was waiting for his wife to call him in to see their first child. They hadn’t been married when they’d had their intimate celebratory moment, but when it became apparent that Marie-Louise was with child, Sébastien had asked her to marry him, which she had done promptly. There had barely been any time for the celebrations, as they had asked to be wed as quickly as possible.

The past nine months had seen the Terreur replaced with the Directoire. Not that they’d called it Terreur - that was what it was being called in the streets of Paris. They called it the Comité de salut public, which had been created in April 1793 by the Convention to protect the new republic against foreign attacks and internal rebellion.

Well, there had been no major foreign attacks, but the internal rebellions had been… many and bloody. The Terreur had replaced the Convention seemingly inconspicuously, but it had become established with the Tribunal Révolutionaire. There had been the Massacres de Septembre in 1792, where the princesse de Lamballe had been killed by the mob. The past years had been… Sébastien can barely stand the thought of what has happened in the last many years. 

But, all of that doesn’t matter right now. Right now, all that matters is the cries from a newborn in the room next to the one he’s sitting in.

They’re a little outside of Paris, in one of Roederer's houses. The Comte Pierre Louis Roederer has been invited as the the 31st member of the Institut. 

The Institut had been founded the year before** as a learned society, grouping the académies: the Académie française, concerning the French language, originally founded in 1635 by the Cardinal Richelieu; the Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres, devoted to the humanities, founded in 1663 by Colbert, one of Louis the XIV’s ministers; the Académie des sciences, devoted to sciences, founded in 1666 also by Colbert and finally the Académie des sciences morales et politiques, founded by the Convention itself.

Of course, Roederer is also more than just a member of the Institut, he had also been one of the few to write publicly against the execution of Louis XVI in the Journal de Paris, a few weeks before the 38 year old king had been sentenced to death.

“She’s ready to see you!” one of the ladies, a servante, tells him, as she leaves the room with bloody rags in her hands. It hasn’t been an easy delivery, that much he knows. He’s heard Marie-Louise cry out in pain for the past many hours, and had spent the night by the light of a candle, trying to not fall asleep, as he was reading over some of the papers his host had written.

Sébastien has made quite a name for himself during and after what they’re not calling the Révolution, and thus had his skills as a master of the written word. Camille Desmoulin and Georges Danton had been masters of the written word too, but they had fallen to the blade of the guillotine less than a year prior. Even though they had been revolutionaries and wanted to change the world, Sébastien had liked their passion. Even if it had brought them to their deaths.

Getting up in a rush, he pushes open the door. The air inside is crystal clear, the window open wide to let in some fresh air. He sees the face of his beloved, sweat pearling at her forehead, hair sticking to the face, and he thinks her the most beautiful thing he has ever witnessed. She’s four years his senior, but that has never meant anything to him: they had met by chance or by fate at the funeral of the young Dauphin de France. 

“Sébastien!” she calls, looking up from the bundle of fabric in her arms. A tiny little fist is showing from it, and Sébastien feels everything around him change. His entire life depends on the survival of Marie-Louise and the little boy in her arms. If anything were to ever happen to them, he would tear down the world and kill the men who caused them harm.

Tip toeing towards her, he can feel his pulse accelerating, as if the image and the idea of a family will crumble if he gets too close. 

“Marie-Louise,” he whispers, sitting down next to her. Her delivery had been painful, but so were all first time deliveries, it was said. The Vicomte had welcomed them into his home after learning that Sébastien was still in Paris, alive and well, and had told him that he would do anything for his former friend.

“He’s beautiful…”

The words escape his mouth without him meaning them to, and when he puts his finger down next to the little fist, only for the boy to grip his finger back. 

“What shall we call him?” Marie-Louise asks, and Sébastien looks over at her, pressing his lips to her damp forehead. He gently pushes the hair that’s sticking to her forehead away, resting his head on hers. 

He doesn’t answer for a couple of seconds. “I don’t know, do you have any ideas?”

He does have ideas - he would love for him to bear the name of his father, but the name Maximilien wasn’t exactly well received in a world which Maximilien de Robespierre had left an indelible mark of blood on history. So, Sébastien’s first child will have to have a name that doesn’t make everyone around him look around in fear, the whites of their eyes visible in a state of delirious panic and fear for their personal safety.

“I think,” she starts, gently looking at the boy, “I think we should name him Jean-Louis.”

There’s a moment where Sébastien’s heart almost stops. They had talked about the names Pierre and Jacques and Paul, all good French names to avoid any suspicion that they were anything but French, but this comes as a surprise to him. It must be visible on his face, because Marie-Louise laughs, still tired from labor, but it’s a good laugh.

“We can call him something else if that is too much, but I think that it would be nice if-”

“It’s perfect,” he interrupts, putting his thumb next to his index, still held by the little baby in the sheets. Marie-Louise moves slightly to the side, adjusts herself and puts out her arms to hand him the child, and for a split second, Sébastien feels utter terror at the thought that he might drop the child.

But, she doesn’t give him a chance as she tells him that “Shhh, don’t worry, look,” and pushes the boy into his arms. The bundles feel so small, and yet when Sébastien finally sees the face of his child, he can’t help the tears from coming.

The little boy had been conceived - or so they thought - on the night of Robespierre’s death, and naming him after the little King of France would be the highest honor Sébastien could give. 

“I’d- I’d like that,” he says, leaning forward, kissing his son’s forehead. This seems to wake the little child, who opens his eyes and looks up.

“Jean-Louis,” he whispers, and Marie-Louise smiles. For this one moment, the world seems to be finally at peace with itself and nothing outside the room seems to have any influence on their lives whatsoever.

* * *

**13 Vendémiaire, Year IV (October 5th 1795)**

The Revolution is officially over. Or that’s what they’re saying on the streets anyways. 

Marie-Louise has gotten word of an uprising in Le Peletier. The National Guard had arrived there the day before to put down unrest.

The unrest, as it were, stemmed from the Revolution itself: while the Revolution had been received by the French people quite well - and in a spectacle of blood and death, they had been fed a circus and bread with the murder and death of leaders, soldiers and more through the last six years - there had been some… new stances. Most importantly, it was the anti-Catholic stance which seemed to cause the most problems: Roman Catholics weren’t too keen on declaring themselves republicans when it meant that the Republic would allow freedom of religion.

The British had ended up supporting the Armée catholique et royale, which had appeared in Vendée, fighting against the revolutionaries there. The comité de salut public had ordered Jean-Baptiste Carrier to pacify the Vendée region, and the decimation which had followed had not softened the relationship between the Catholics and the Republicans. 

These whole forces were funded by the British with over 4000 émigrés, 80,000 muskets and 80 cannons, while the British were very willing to produce counterfeit money, to help unbalance the already fragile French economy.

Although there had been successful battles on French soil to fight against the Armée catholique et royale, they had gained even more power as popular revolts had broken out in Dreux in early September, and the émigrés army had begun to march on Paris. This was of course, motivated by the arrival of the Comte d’Artois, who had been the younger brother of Louis XVI, who would later take on the name Charles X in 1824. The Royalist troops had seen this as a defining moment and now was the absolute moment to retake Paris. 

Therefore, they had marched to Le Peletier, began felling Liberty Trees and destroying the Cocardes de France. Rumors had gone as far as to the potential defection of the entire Garde Nationale de Paris.

And that hadn’t sat well with the Convention. Marie-Louise was still caring for Jean-Louis, but by his power with words and their friendship with the Vicomte Louis Roederer, Sébatien was more privy to what was happening in the Convention and the decisions to be made. 

So, when Roederer had offered Sébastien to accompany him to a meeting with Barras, whom Sébastien knew from the visit at the Prison du Temple to certify that it had indeed been Louis XVII in the little cell, then Sébastien had seen no option but to acquiesce to the request. After all, when great men meet, that’s the time when things will change - again.

Roederer, Barras and Sébastien were meeting with several other members of the Convention, but it had been the young General Napoléon Bonaparte who had caught Sébastien’s eye that day.

The Général had become a supporter of the Jacobins cause during the Revolution. The early years of the French revolts in Paris, he had been in his native Corsica, trying to find heads and tails in a struggle between royalists, revolutionaries and Corsican nationalists. He’d gone from commanding a battalion of volunteers in Corsica to captain in the regular army some years prior. He’d published several papers, among other things the Souper de Beaucaire, which had caught the eye of Robespierre’s younger brother, Augustin Robespierre, and through that attention, he had been appointed artillery commander of the republican forces at the Siege of Toulon, a military engagement between the Republican forces and the Royalist rebels. At 24, Bonaparte had been promoted to brigadier general, and by the time he’d been noticed by the the Comité de salut public, he’d been put in charge of the artillery of France’s Armée d'Italie, a field Army stationed on the Italian border and used for operations in Italy itself. 

After he’d been put in charge of the Armée d'Italie, he had organized and carried out a plan for a campaign against the First Coalition in Saorgio, and had then been sent forward again towards the Republic of Genoa to figure out what their intentions were towards France. 

The first Coalition counted the Dutch Republic, Great Britain, the Holy Roman Empire, Naples, Portugal, Sardinia and Spain as well as some other Italian states, which had made Bonaparte’s command of the Armée d’Italie even more important. 

The man himself, Sébastien had learned while talking with Barras on the way here, had been put on probation after Robespierre’s death, and there had been some friction between Bonaparte and the Convention: he had been removed from the list of generals because he had refused to engage in the War in the Vendée, and he’d asked to transfer to Constantinople to offer his services to the Sultan Selim III, who had been ruling the Ottoman Empire since 1789. 

In the face of a Royalist insurrection in the capital, Barras had given him command of the improvised forces in defence of the Convention at the Tuileries Palace, and knowing that Bonaparte had witnessed the Insurrection of August 1792, his tactical skills were, they hoped, the way to get through the nights to come. For they would be bloody nights.

“Ah, you must be the young Le Livre, I hear you had a son born to you earlier this year, yes?” Bonaparte asks Sébastien directly, when the two men are introduced. Roederer and Barras are still discussing whether or not the idea to use cannons in the streets of the capital is a good idea, but by the way Bonaparte had planned the attack and defense, it seemed that taking the 40 cannons was the best way to take action.

“I had, you are correct. I hear you fought in Italy and discussed matters with the Republic of Genoa,” Sébastien replies in an equally cool tone. Bonaparte frowns as Sébastien speaks, realizing that perhaps the man in front of him is like him, not from France itself. (Well, Corsica was French but- Corsica didn’t  _ feel  _ French. It’s complicated).

Bonaparte bites his lip, pulling off the gloves from his fingers. He’s a young man still, but the taste of power and his military prowess has made him bold. Sébastien can read the man like an open book - he has the same delusions of grandeur as Robespierre had had before he had been decapitated by means of guillotine. The others may not see it, but it will come. This is, however, neither the place, nor the time for such a discussion.

Bonaparte points to Sébastien. “You are not from France, are you?” he asks, and Sébastien shakes his head. 

“I am originally from Liège, my father was the lawyer Maximilien le Livre. He dealt with the Royal French family, which is how I came to be in Paris.” Sébastien knows that he can talk freely in the company of the Vicomte de Roederer and Barras, as well as Bonaparte. Bonaparte’s stances on the monarchy were both extremely well known and then not really: he seemed to care mostly about his own military career, and picking the side most likely to win was a matter of strategy more than a matter of what he believed in.

“Ah, Liège. You had a principality in place, yes?” Bonaparte asks, and Sébastien nods.

“The French revolution contaminated the principality, yes. The Revolution of Liège lasted two years, shorter than here,” Sébastien says without emphasizing anything too much. “There’s already been a restoration as well, where Hoensbroeck recovered his throne, but when France abolished the monarchy, well… It became a French region. The French troops were beaten after that, and Austria put back the prince-bishop on the throne, but the French came back and are now occupying my home country.”

It’s quiet for a little while, and Sébastien realizes that the other two men are listening to what he’s saying even though it looks like they’re discussing something on the papers in front of them. 

“And how do you feel about that?” Bonaparte asks, and Sébastien appreciates the honest question. At least, he didn’t beat around the bush too much.

Shrugging, Sébastien doesn’t really know how to answer. So that’s what he says: “I don’t really know. I haven’t been in Liège in many years. My personal position I think has been made clear to the men in this room, and if they trust me to live and work with them,” he says, motioning at Roederer and Barras with a cock of his chin, “then I don’t think my opinion of what has happened in my home city matters. I cannot do anything from here to there, and like you said - I have a son and a wife, both French by blood and mind. If anything, I am as French as them, for it is in France that I have learned to be a man and what matters in life.”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like he was preaching his defense, but it had ended sounding like that. Barras looks happy though, smiling. 

“That man right there,” Barras says, pointing at Sébastien, “has done more for the French revolution and the safeguard of French honor than you can know, Bonaparte. You know how the late King and Queen had tried to escape from Paris? Le Livre was the one to create the forged documents.”

“Forgers are usually put in prison, not in rooms where decisions are made,” Bonaparte comments and Sébastien understands the threat in the words, although it is as discreet as can be. “Especially when it is to help facilitate the escape of the King and Queen of a fallen monarchy.”

“Oh, Bonaparte, don’t fret- he didn’t do it out of love of King and Country, he did it to save the children,” Roederer interrupts. “Sébastien was known at Court for entertaining the royal children with fables and words, he wasn’t allowed near the King and Queen. He was no more than a jester for the little ones.”

Even though the word jester hurts Sébastien a little - he had done it out of love for the children, not because he wanted to make a fool of himself - he knows that this is the best defense he will get. 

“Then why is he here?” Bonaparte demands, with the posture and pride of a man of his position and honor. The question is as true as Sébastien feels it - why indeed is he here? He has no idea why Roederer had taken him with him to this meeting.

Barras laughs, as if the answer to the question is obvious. Sadly though, it isn’t - neither to Sébastien nor to Bonaparte. 

“Because when one has two men with your wits and knowledge, one needs to introduce them to one another. I’m sure that the Convention will bring about great things for the both of you - you are young men, and we,” Barras points at himself and Roederer, “need to make sure that the future of this country doesn’t fall into the hands of someone like Robespierre again.”

Sébastien almost laughs at that, but he placards a smile on his face. How could they not see the thirst for power in Bonaparte’s eyes? He could sense it from here. The Convention would regret putting their faith on a man who had refused to obey orders and wanted to go proclaim his loyalty to someone else.

Years later, Sébastien will think back to his first meeting with Napoléon and wonder what would have happened if he had spoken up then and there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Well, the Institut was founded historically on October 25th 1795, but again, it’s fic, so the time-line is allowed to be a little wibbly-wobbly, isn’t it?
> 
> There are arguments about whether or not it was an accident that Robespierre got shot in the face or whether it _was_ a suicide attempt. In the Révolution Francaise movie, they portray it as an accident, as [you can watch here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myUyc2S_JBA&ab_channel=crookedsin).
> 
> As for Sébastien's and Napoléon's first meeting - what did you think? This right there is the seed of a feud that will last for many, many years, and if you remember how and where and why Booker died the first time... then the battle of wits between Sébastien and Napoléon will be worth paying attention to. (There's lots of foreshadowing going on there!)
> 
> Let me know what you liked best in the comments, and as always, find me [on tumblr ♥](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ( _ps: you can also subscribe to this fic at the top of the page so you get an email notification when it updates! ☼_ )


	6. Suzanne Elisabeth Madeleine le Livre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Convention has been replaced by the Directoire - and legislative power in France now sits in the hands of five Directeurs. But, power is a fickle thing, and with the threat of the legitimate heir to the throne of France looming on the horizon, threatening to return to Paris and grab power for himself, there isn't much to do but rely on the players available on the chessboard.  
> As Sébastien Le Livre and Marie-Louise welcome another child into this world, whispers and conspiracy begins to take shape around them. Forging is a skill that takes years to master, and maybe, just maybe, Sébastien will be decisive in a political game he wants no part of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Wednesday again, which means it's time for a new chapter of our favorite tragedy! 
> 
> Trigger warnings are canon compliant violence mentions of revolution, war and such, but there's also a scene of a birth at the end of the chapter with mentions of blood and death. A little funeral scene is also present near the end of the chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

_**Directoire** : The Directory (also called Directorate, French: le Directoire) was the governing five-member committee in the French First Republic from 2 November 1795 until 9 November 1799, when it was overthrown by Napoleon Bonaparte in the Coup of 18 Brumaire and replaced by the Consulate._

* * *

**21 Prairial, Year III (June 9th 1795)**

“Le Livre?”

Sébastien looks up from the work he’s currently doing at the presses - he’s currently setting up the types for the morning’s newspaper on an article about the Directory’s newest legislation. 

Picking up each individual cast iron letter in order to set it up is tedious - putting them back afterwards is about as tedious as putting them in - but it’s good work and even though Sébastien technically still receives money from his father, he likes the hard work. 

And, having been employed, it has also meant that nobody has asked too much about how and why he wasn’t working - all nobles and aristocrats would have been encompassed by the Loi des Suspects’ article 2: suspected persons either by their conduct, relations, words or writings who had shown themselves to be partisans of tyranny, federalism and enemies of liberty (so, anyone against the Révolution), but also those who could not justify their means of existence and their discharge of their civic duties.

Eventually, Robespierre had completely made the presence of witnesses unnecessary during his reign of Terror, but Sébastien had kept his work at the presses under the guise of hiding his origins. He was known as Le Livre amongst the other workers in the presses, and he had been very careful about what information he had divulged to his employers.

So, when a colleague - almost a friend, really - by the name of Thomas Mustelier, calls for his attention, Sébastien puts down the little case where he’s been setting up the different letters to form a line, to form a sentence, to form an article.

“Yes?”

The tone that Thomas has used feels wrong - he’s got a missive in his hands and Sébastien fears for the worst. Has something happened to Marie-Louise or to Jean-Louis? Have they finally been found out, even now that the Terreur has ended?

Thomas comes over in a rush, handing the piece of paper to Sébastien. “I just got it from one of the other newspapers, the boss wants you to stop your work and put this together for printing tomorrow. It has to be on the front page,” Thomas continues, as Sébastien reads the cursive letters on the paper.

“Louis-Charles is dead, autopsy confirmed, death by scrofous infection, body scarred from mutilations” it says. 

Sébastien looks up at Thomas, who simply looks back at him. Thomas had enough brains to have put two and two together when Sébastien had disappeared early from work one day, only for the newspapers to later proclaim that the child in the Temple was indeed the son of the king, especially after Thomas had spoken with Sébastien about Barras.

“You are in charge of writing the article,” Thomas says, leaving with the piece of paper in hand.

Sébastien finds a chair to sit down. The little boy had been barely 10 years old. 

Philippe-Jean Pelletan had conducted the autopsy, Sébastien finds out when he enquires around him - he works in the presses, he has contacts - and when he comes back to stand in front of the boxes filled with all the different types, he can barely find the words he needs to use to put them on paper.

He cannot say to anyone what he truly feels - that the young boy, the little king Louis XVII, had been a child with more innocence in his body than Sébastien had ever seen. The boy will be buried in the morning at the Sainte Marguerite cemetery. 

* * *

**27 Frimaire, Year IV (December 18th 1795)**

The Convention has been planning on exchanging Marie-Thérèse de France against political prisoners currently held in Austria since the 12th of Messidor of the third year.

That had been in June.

The Calendrier Républicain, or Republican calendar, had been instilled in October two years prior to this day. Technically, it had been officially instituted on the 6th of October 1793, but the first day of the first month of the first new year had been September 22nd 1792. 

Sébastien hasn’t gotten around to the conversions just yet, but he’s carrying a little calendar with him everywhere he goes. It’s the best way - don’t use the old one. Not yet.

Using a new calendar was a way for the revolutionaries to part ways with the Gregorian calendar, by using science and the decimal system, instead of the monarchy or Christianity. They’d looked at the classical calendar system and changed it completely. New era, with a new start on how to count the years, new months, new days, new hours and new minutes…

Sébastien had discussed the calendar at length with those he would and could discuss it with. Mostly, they’d wanted to opt out of the holidays imposed by the Ancien Régime, and by changing the week to ten days instead of seven, well, it meant more work and less Sundays off. Frankly, Sébastien just thinks it stupid to write dates using it: the second day of the second decade of the second month of the second year of the Republic sounds way too difficult.

The Convention has forbidden the written press to use the old calendar, and it’s making things even more difficult, but he has to admit that the idea of it is… interesting. The twelves months represent 30 days each, and the five or six extra days are put at the end of the year as an extra, so that the seasons don’t fall out of alignment with the Sun. Each month of 30 days is now divided by three decades, each ten days. They’ve even changed the way they keep time! A day now goes from midnight to midnight, in ten hours of ten smaller parts, themselves divided by ten… It’s enough to give Sébastien a headache, frankly.

And, to make matters worse - or better, he isn’t frankly too sure how to feel about it - the Convention had asked a poet, Fabre d’Églantine, to come up with the names of the new months. So, this poet had taken a look at agriculture and thought to bring back the nation to one, by marking the seasons and changes of the year in the name of the months.

The first month, Vendémiaire, takes its name from the harvest, the vendanges, done from September to October. The next, Brumaire, is uninspiringly called after the mist and fog, the brume, and if the months of October and November weren’t nauseatingly boring and damp in the first place, this name would surely make matters worse. The last month of the autumn, would be called Frimaire, inspired by the cold air from November to December.

Sébastien thinks it quite romantic, really, to baptize the months after the seasons, and if it didn’t bother him so much to have to learn to convert every single day, he would probably have been able to enjoy it. (With time, he will learn to use the new calendar, though. Bonaparte will make sure of it). The Autumn months all have had the suffix -aire added to their original French words for the sake of preserving the Latin.

(As a means to break with Christianity and the Monarchy, Sébastien finds it funny that the Revolutionaries are bringing in Latin again like this. Maybe it’s because they think that by speaking Latin, it makes them illuminated and knowledgeable men).

The winter months take their inspiration from winter itself: Nivôse is called after the neige, the snow of December and January, while Pluviôse reminds everyone that January and February are the wettest months of the year in its very name: la pluie, the rain... Maybe Pluviôse lies right behind Brumaire, in Sébastien’s mind: rain isn’t as bad as the fog. He hates the fog more than being wet, and that’s something that always surprises those around him. 

(Truly, he had once gotten lost in Liège as a child because of a foggy night, and ever since, he has respected the thick, white smoke more than the rain that would seep through the rafters. Water, you can still see through).

This time, the Revolutionaries have used the -ose suffix from Latin, because maybe it sounded better. He isn’t sure - it’s an adjectival suffix, and even though it sounds good, it would be better kept for poetry and writing. But then again, they had asked a poet to come up with these Romantic names for the months, so he wouldn’t blame them for it.

The last month of winter, they’re calling ventôse, for the wind, the vent. February and March seem wetter than windier to Sébastien, though, but he has never given it much thought - to him, it was always simply February and March.

Then, came the three months of Spring, themselves inspiring after the cold, wet and windy months of winter: germinal, first, from March to April, when the trees start to germinate from the ground, followed by the bloom of floréal, of the flowers and the fleurs, bringing color back to April and May. The third month of Spring, prairial, takes its name from the ripe prairies of May and June. 

Unsurprisingly, Fabre d’Églantine had picked another Latin suffix for these months in the shape of the -al suffix, before moving onto the Summer months.

Messidor, the month ranging from June to July takes its name from the moissons, the harvests and the thought of wheat bending in the wind on ripe fields… The second one, Thermidor, falls from July to August, and reminds everyone of the dreaded heat of those months with a clever play on the word therme, while the last of the Summer months, Fructidor, takes its name off the fruits that ripen in the months of August and September. 

Sébastien is a little bit annoyed that Fabre d’Églantine had decided to stop using Latin suffixes for these last months, going with the Greek word “dôron” instead, which he had learned from Roederer meant “gift.”

The decades would be divided into ten days, unoriginally called primedi, duodi, tridi, quartidi, quintidi, sextidi, septidi, octidi, nonidi and décadi. Each day of the year has now a fauna or flora associated with it, replacing the Christian saints with a bull, a dog, a cow or salt, iron and mercury, or even a hazel tree, lichen or rhubarb. 

Even though Sébastien isn’t particularly Christian, he thinks that it is maybe a wake-up call to all those Saints whose names he had to learn by heart as a child. He amused himself with the thought of them achieving Sainthood only to be replaced by a dog. What a message to send indeed.

So, it is by this calendar that the day to be known as the 28 Frimaire de l’an IV will be remembered.

Marie-Thérèse de France is the sole survivor of the former Royal family in the Maison du temple. Well, that’s untrue, the Royal pretender to the throne, styled Louis XVIII has tried to remind the country of France of the sovereignty of the king. There’s been talks of marrying her to the Duc d’Angoulême, so that she could become Queen after Louis XVIII abdicates his rightful place on the throne of France, but those plans are abandoned quickly.

The Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Francois II, Marie-Antoinette's brother and, as such, Marie-Thérèse’s uncle, has been on the throne of the Holy Roman Empire since 1792, elected to be the Emperor of the Roman Empire. His father’s reign had been short, but he had been welcomed by a declaration of war from the nation of France. They hadn’t even dared declare war to the Emperor, only to the King of Bohemia and Hungary. 

So, at 27 years of age, Francois II had accepted the terms put forward by the Convention: exchange his cousin against French prisoners captured by the Austrian army. 

The Princess is only 17, but Sébastien is glad to be by her side today.

It hadn’t been an easy thing to put together, but as soon as the rumors of the exchange had begun to bloom in the press after the negotiations in the Assemblée, Sébastien had asked around. First Barras, asking if anyone knew of how the exchange would be performed. 

The Convention had the month prior become the Directoire, a five-member committee governing over the affairs of France, constituting the First Republic of the Country. Paul Barras had been elected as a Director, along with Louis-Marie de la Révellière-Lépeaux, Emmanuel-Joseph Sieyès, who had penned the “Qu’est ce que le Tiers-État?” pamphlet years prior, Jean-Francois Reubell, a diplomat and Étienne-François Le Tourneur, a general and politician. 

Then, he’d asked Roederer, who had been campaigning for election into the Institut. Both of them, knowing him, and knowing his relation to the former Royal family of France had taken him to the Maison du Temple, where the planning for her exchange was taking place.

The jailers that Sébastien had met many years prior to identify the little Prince remembered him, and they had seemed more tolerant to him than the last time he had been in the Maison du Temple. And so, Sébastien had finally been in the same room again as the young girl he had taught to write and who had asked him to imitate her writing, all those many years ago.

“Le Livre!” she had claimed, seeing him come into her room, accompanied by Barras himself. The organization of her exchange to Austria has been done with the utmost discretion, and only very few know about it: the Directoire wishes to avoid a public riot when it will be revealed that she has been exchanged for prisoners. 

There are still those who will demand her head on a spike the moment that she walks through the gates of the prison - and there are those who would be willing to take her away by force. Whether to protect her or not, it’s impossible to know. 

And, therefore, when she had asked Sébastien, “Will you be joining me on the journey?” he had been unable to decline the invitation.

Once before he had let the Royal children travel without him, and that had led to absolute disaster. So, this time, Sébastien is ready.

Travelling will take place on horseback, along with a régiment de cavalerie, and although he is not the most glamorous rider, Sébastien knows how to stay on a horseback. He’s tried it enough times to know how to handle them - even when he learns that the only horse available to him is a feisty Morvan horse. None of the horses from the Haras Nationaux will be lent out to him. 

The stallion has been named “Robespierre” by Roederer, who had purchased it for draught work, but ended up having to let it go, due to its belligerent nature. Offering it to Sébastien had been the least he could do, especially when he’d noticed how quiet the horse came to be in the hands of Sébastien.

“You will have to give him another name,” Marie-Thérèse says, the day before her departure from the Maison du Temple. Their destination is Bâle, in Switzerland. 

“Robespierre is a bit long,” Sébastien replies, a bit too seriously, to what the princess laughs.

“About a head too long,” she snorts, and Sébastien looks at her slightly shocked at the fact that she would dare make such a joke. But, when he sees the wide smile on her face, he relaxes again. 

“He is feisty,” she had commented, upon seeing the stallion for the first time. The Morvan horse was used as a saddle-horse, for hunting and cavalry mount, but also as a draught horse. 

Sébastien shrugs. “They tell me he’ll do well during the journey, the breed is apparently known for their resilience,” he says, stroking the horse’s forehead, then patting it on the crest of its neck.

“Will you stay with me in Bâle?” she asks him then, and Sébastien feels something tear in his heart. Although it is a privilege for him to accompany her on this journey, he must return to Paris. 

And so, that’s what he tells her. “I have to come back here,” he starts, looking at the horse instead of her.

They’re quiet for a couple of minutes, and she gives him the time. It’s a bit too hard for him to say it properly, and Marie-Thérèse will let him entertain the idea that she doesn’t already know that he has a son, that he named his son Jean-Louis in honor of her brothers and her father, and that she knows he married Marie-Louise, who used to accompany Madame de Tourzel in the castle while taking care of her and her siblings as younger children. She likes the pretense of him telling her something she doesn’t know.

Barras had discussed it with her when they had laid their plans for the exchange, and he had given Marie-Thérèse an update on Sébastien’s life situation when they had spoken of him and how he had volunteered to accompany her to wherever she would have to go for the exchange.

Sébastien strokes the horse’s head again, and looks back at Marie-Thérèse with a soft smile. “I’m married and have a son,” he says, and she nods, as if this is the first time she is hearing of it. “Do you remember Marie-Louise? She used to help you and your brothers when the Marquise de Tourzel was busy,” he says, and Marie-Thérèse nods at that.

Of course she remembers Marie-Louise - she remembers how the young woman had been watching Sébastien with enamored eyes. Even though she hadn’t known what love was at the time, nor what it meant to look at someone the way she looked at him, Marie-Thérèse had known one thing: Marie-Louise would blush whenever she came close enough to Sébastien, but they had never spoken to one another until much later. 

(As a matter of fact, Marie-Thérèse will learn from epistolary exchanges with Marie-Louise that Sébastien hadn’t even recognized Marie-Louise the first time that they met properly, at the funeral of her older sibling.)

“I remember her, she was a pretty lady, I can understand that you married her,” Marie-Thérèse answers, before continuing, “it is a shame that I will never get to meet your son. What did you call him?” she asks innocently and watches Sébastien’s face as he weighs the pros and cons of telling her. 

She is still grief stricken of having lost her entire family - but she is 17 still, and she still has her entire life ahead of her. Knowing that the memory of her brothers, her sister and her parents will live on in Sébastien’s own legacy makes her happy.

“We had initially thought of calling him Jean-Jacques, but we decided to call him Jean-Louis instead. We thought, since we both knew your brothers, it was only appropriate. That way, we would always remember you, when we looked at our son,” he says, and feels the pride suddenly welling up his chest. He hadn’t expected to feel this proud of mentioning his son’s name to her: he had been afraid, afraid that she would judge him for being emotional, but standing here, taking care of the horse he will ride while accompanying her to the border, which he hadn’t been able to do when the Royal family had attempted to escape, well…

It simply seemed appropriate to let her know. She smiles at his explanation.

“I like that,” she finally says, and turns around as it is time for her to go back into her room. They will ride tomorrow, on the 19th of December 1795, at the rise of dawn. Well, not the 19th of December - the 28 Frimaire, Year IV. Sébastien stills needs to get around to using the new calendar, and he's trying so very hard: none of the days and months make enough sense for him for now. But it will come - or at least he hopes.

* * *

The next morning, Sébastien stands back in the courtyard of the Maison du Temple. He had said goodbye to Marie-Louise earlier that day, and she had told him to take care of himself and not do anything foolish while he was gone. Sébastien was 25 years old, and for the first time in his life, he had been handed a firearm by one of the cavaliers who would be accompanying the princess to the border as well. When asked if he knew how to shoot, he had said yes, because it had been expected of him. 

However, the young man inside of him who still loves to read philosophy and think of the nature of man still despises the use of fire, powder and bullets to take a human life. He hates it, but he will have to use it, if trouble should rise along the way.

Barras and Roederer had debated heatedly when he had volunteered to accompany the cortège to Bâle - would a foreigner attempt anything, one of them had asked, to what the other had said, not this foreigner. 

And, when Roederer had shown up with a horse to go, a uniform and some clothing to go with that and told him that he had been integrated into the team of riders who would accompany the princess out of this country, Sébastien’s mind had almost frozen in place. He had never thought that his demands would have gone through, and yet, here he was.

Preparing to ride from Paris to Switzerland, on a horse he wasn’t familiar with, to make sure that a princess he helped escape one time would make it to her destination this time. Roederer had convinced the man in charge of the travel to take Sébastien with them for his quick wit and ability to invent a situation, a persona, a story to go with it. Sébastien’s forging skills had not been forgotten, and his ability to seemingly be both very remarkable and very bland at the same time served to his advantage.

There was nothing special about him, in honesty: he was just a young man, who would be riding with other young men, protecting a coach as it travelled across a country which had been ripped apart from the inside and out, burned to the ground in places, only for something worse and rotten to come out of the ash.

The Directoire was trying to fix what the Terreur had caused under the Convention - Robespierre had killed so many and so harshly that it had left a deep dent in the morale of the politicians who had hoped for a new and inspiring country, after the monarchy had been abolished.

Thankfully, the Directoire would go on to last for some years still, until Sébastien’s fate would meet that of a young military prodigy known as Napoléon Bonaparte. 

* * *

**18 Fructidor, Year V (September 4th, 1797)**

Quite a lot of things have happened since Sébastien came back from Bâle, Switzerland, with a horse named Robespierre.

Bonaparte had left Paris in March of 1796 for Nice, where he had been appointed as the leader of the Armée d’Italie. The army had been weak and poorly supplied, and the reorganization of it at this point in time had meant that it would improve, and, with that, his plans of invading Italy were finally put into motion. 

Sébastien had come home to Marie-Louise and Jean-Louis, who was now three years old. The young boy had begun to babble words, and watching the little child he had fathered grow into its own person… Well, it had made Sébastien a happy man indeed. However, where Bonaparte was leading the war in Italy by sharing the battlefield with his men, Sébastien had been fighting his own war of words and wits, by assisting the Vicomte de Roederer and the Vicomte de Barras in their respective places in the Directoire.

While Bonaparte was conquering and winning battles in Italy, Royalists were gaining strength again in the French capital. 

While, some years ago, Sébastien would have been proud to help them and assist them, his interest in the royal family had been extinguished when he had helped Marie-Thérèse escape the claws of the guillotine and the French revolutionaries. 

Him and Marie-Louise had no reason as to want to implicate themselves in yet another counter-revolution, erasing and destroying all that had been built since 1789, and with the responsibility of a child… Sébastien had felt that his task at hand would be to uphold the current order of things. 

So, when, during the latest elections of 1795, Royalists had gained 87 seats, and it was expected that they could possibly gain even more in the upcoming elections, three of the Directors of the Directory, Barras, Reubell and de la Révellière-Lépeaux, along with the minister Talleyrand had begun planning a possible coup d’état with the support of the military. 

Still sharing a living space with Roederer, Sébastien had been invited in the meetings between the politicians, and having met Bonaparte, he would soon be able to play a part in the upcoming battle of wits at the Assembly. The Council of the Five Hundred, the lower house of the legislature of France under the ruling Constitution now had a Royalist as President, Jean-Charles Pichegru. With Bonaparte’s help, documentation written by Pichegru had been presented to the Directory as treasonous, and the Directors managed to annul the elections and subsequently arrest the royalists.

( _Whether or not Sébastien’s forging skills had ever been in use in this specific situation, he will never tell a soul. Barras and Roederer knew of his ability to mimic the written word to perfection, including the tone and usual vocabulary of the person he was imitating. Historians will later on debate whether or not the documentation that Bonaparte provided to the Directory were real, and Pichegru himself will try to make that claim to the Council, but, if Sébastien ever makes it to the grave, he will take this secret with him_ ).

When he came home that night, Sébastien was asked to join Roederer in his study.

“So, what have you seen out there?” Roederer asks him, and Sébastien takes the glass of alcohol that the politician has offered him. Sitting down on one of the chairs, he sighs, rubbing his eyes. It’s been a long day - long weeks, actually - and the idea that he could possibly have been a part of such daring political and military enterprises has exhausted him.

Marie-Louise had been adamant that he should not engage, but when Roederer had finally convinced her that it was the best for both herself and her son, she had accepted that they make use of Sébastien’s unspoken skills with letters and documents. 

“Pichegru, Ramel-Nogaret, the Marquis de Barthélemy and Willott have been arrested, but Carnot escaped. The generals Augereau and Hoche have arrested 214 deputies. There are almost nobody out in the streets, but the presses are already at work, printing the posters that will be set up around the city tomorrow. Pichegru doesn’t stand a chance, but…”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes again, taking a sip of the strong alcohol he hasn’t gotten too familiar with yet. “Your name is on the list of those who are to be deported to Guyana.”

Roederer doesn’t look at all surprised by this information. He had sent Sébastien out into Paris with the task of talking to those he knew in the press and asking them to begin pressing and publishing the letters of de Launey about Pichegru’s treason. Maybe it had been a way for him to get rid of Sébastien for some hours and discuss other things without anyone eavesdropping on him.

“It will be taken care of,” Roederer says flatly. The worry in Sébastien’s shoulders is still visible: he can’t completely relax. 

If Roederer is to be deported to Guyana, it means that he and Marie-Louise will have to find somewhere else to live, and if it means that Roederer is being deported, surely someone will notice that the couple living with him have suddenly become a liability. Sébastien’s friendship with Barras and Roederer comes with a price. But he knows that Roederer owes too much to his own friendship with Sébastien’s father to let anything happen to them. Or so he hopes, at least.

Maximilien le Livre and Pierre-Louis, the Vicomte Roederer, had known each other for years through their work as lawyers. They had gotten to know each other in the Collége royal de Metz, where they both had done their studies: they had both graduated in 1771, receiving their license at the same time. 

“If you say so,” Sébastien adds, the only thing he’s able to reply to the viscount: there is nothing he can say, really. But, Roederer must sense that there is something wrong, for he leans forward in his chair and looks Sébastien directly in the eyes. Nothing goes past those sharp eyes, and Sébastien had been feeling more invested in making sure that the royalists wouldn’t suddenly set fire to the powder of a royalist insurrection.

So, when Roederer asks him “Is there something you want to tell me?”, Sébastien sees no option but to tell him the truth.

“Marie-Louise is expecting again.”

The words fly out of his mouth a little too fast for his liking, but they’re the truth. Maybe Roederer and his wife had noticed - maybe Marie-Louise had told Marie-Catherine Decrétot about her pregnancy, and Marie-Catherine had in turn told Roederer about it. 

“So it would seem,” Roederer says, but he doesn’t look mad. He simply looks amused at the situation. “Tell me, Le Livre, your goal in life seems to escape me. Barras asked you to come to the Maison du Temple to make sure that the Dauphin was indeed the Dauphin, and after that, you have been working with Barras to ensure peace in the capital. Yet, you are neither French nor a Revolutionary - your relationship with the former Royal family puts you on the line of fire of many people. You now have a son and, if Marie-Louise is indeed expecting again, you have another child on the way. Then why do you conspire with Barras and myself, when the matters of this country should not apply to you?”

The question comes as a sting to Sébastien’s pride. He feels the anger in his chest, but he has learned enough about it to control it, so he takes the couple of seconds he needs in order to find the arguments that Roederer is asking him to present. Thankfully, even if Roederer was a lawyer, Sébastien had grown up with one as a father, and the wit of the language and motivations, motives and alibis are known to him as well. It’s what makes him the perfect forger - and an excellent liar at that too.

“You say that I am not French, but my wife and children are. I haven’t heard from my brother in years, and he has probably been killed in the Armée royale or executed by the revolutionaries who set up this new, bright and enlightened nation on a sea of blood. My father is ill, Liège is no more the beautiful principauté it used to be, and the French army has invaded my home country. I have lived in France since I was 14 years old. You’re asking me why I would put my life on the line for the sake of France? I would put my life on the line for the sake of my child, sir, just like I put my life on the line for the sake of the Children of France, the royal children, of which only one survived this bloody and violent uprising. I travelled with her to Bâle in order to make sure that she wouldn’t be taken from this Earth before her time, like her father and her mother, the King and Queen. If you ask me why I do anything, about why I did what I did, on your and Barras’ orders, to help you gain back the power at the Directory and avoid another complete and utter disintegration of the state of this nation… Then, truly, you do not know for whom or what I fight. I would never wield a weapon of war for the sake of politicians or kings or emperors, but I would pick up a weapon if it meant making sure that my family remained safe.”

He’s almost out of breath when he finishes his monologue, but he can’t let that show either: it’s a game of lawyers, and if he shows too much emotion, he could be compromised. 

Roederer simply takes up the challenge and begins speaking in the same tone that Sébastien had used: “Tomorrow, the ministère de la police will outlaw 35 newspapers, and their directors will be deported to Guyana. I too would be on a ship to the île du Diable myself, if it were not for the words of other men in positions of power. By helping the Directory overthrow the royalists, I made a friend in Talleyrand, and he will reciprocate by removing my name from the list of those who should have been sent to the same island that we sent almost 200 of Robespierre’s followers. Do you know that of the 193 we sent to Guyana in 1794, only 54 are still alive? The rest have died of tropical fevers and other diseases that we do not know of here in the country of France, but don’t think, my young le Livre, that I do not know of the risks that the political game brings with it.”

Roederer pauses again, leaning back into his chair. Sébastien realizes then how tired the man looks, and feels a pang of guilt in his heart for being tired himself. Sébastien works from the shadows: sure, some people know his face, but his work, if done well, makes Sébastien completely invisible to the public around him. Roederer is an elected official, a deputy and someone on the line of fire of the legislation.

“Bonaparte married last year, do you remember?” Roederer says with a sigh, almost disinterested in the fact that he’s about to share. Sébastien nods.

“He married Joséphine de Beauharnais.”

“And do you know who Joséphine de Beauharnais had affairs with, prior to meeting her current husband?”

Sébastien also knows the answer to this question - he knows of her, but has never met her. “Barras.”

Roederer nods. “Do you also know about Barras’ other mistresses and-” Roederer makes a vague gesture with his hands “- lovers?”

Sébastien has seen it before, it happened at Court. He knows that Barras would sometimes meet with those of his own sex, but he had never given it much thought, although he knows that homosexuality has been decriminalised in the Code Pénal of 1791 - it is still seen as indecent. But, Barras has too many relations in politics and his personal friendship with Bonaparte is too important to be swayed by the idea of a male lover.

“I do,” Sébastien answers and Roederer nods.

“The immorality of his company can possibly mean that we will need to be very careful, Le Livre. You see how fast things change in these modern times, and I’m afraid that the Directory is seeing its days counted. It is only a matter of time before we see someone else rise up and take the power that is right there, within their reach.”

Sébastien understands the threat and the warning at the same time. Bonaparte had entered Milan like a conqueror during his campaign of Italy: The people had sung the Marseillaise for him, and had asked for Joséphine to come join him in Milan. She had arrived in the city like an Empress, presented to wannabe “subjects,” and there is no doubt that Bonaparte will soon turn his eye towards Paris. He has begun writing his own articles of propaganda that are printed around the entire country, and the popularity of young generals, barely a year older than Sébastien, is not to be taken lightly. 

“We needed the help of Bonaparte in order to make today happen,” Roederer muses, probably more to himself than to Sébastien, as he looks down into the glass, now emptied of its contents. “He will not forget this - he is the one who has campaigned in Italy, and is now looking to Austria. The Coalition has been fought back by Bonaparte, and soon, he will demand the attention he thinks he deserves.”

It is true that Bonaparte has been becoming more and more influential in the political scene: he founded two newspapers, one for the troops in his army and another for circulation in France, where he wrote most of the articles himself, stylizing himself as a conqueror and a leader. The looting that his Armée d’Italie have done in Italy has also been cause for concern: the Royalists which Sébastien has just helped send off on a boat to the other end of the world had warned that Bonaparte may become a dictator. 

There is no way that Sébastien could, that night, have known how right both he and the Vicomte de Roederer would end up being on account of Napoléon Bonaparte. But, for now, they can lean back and enjoy the short lived peace of a successful coup d’état.

* * *

**19 Fructidor, year VI (September 5th, 1798)**

Today a new law has been adopted by the Directoire. They call it the loi Jourdan-Delbrel, and it institutes the universal and obligatory conscription for all men aged 20 to 25. The first article of the law states that any French man is a soldier and is needed for the defense of their country. The conscription will last for five years, from when the men are aged 20 to 25.

The second article of the law authorizes men from ages 18 to 30 to voluntarily join the army, as long as they can present a certificate signed by their city’s mayor and a peace lawyer. 

But, that specific news won’t reach Sébastien’s ears or eyes for another couple of days.

Marie-Louise is in labour again, and has been for some time too. She’s writhing in pain - more so than the last time, and Sébastien can’t just sit on a chair and bite down on his nails. The Directory is in a quasi-war with the United States over the Jay Treaty, and Talleyrand, who had helped Roederer keep his place in the Directoire, had provoked the diplomats sent from the United States to negotiate.

The first Coalition has also been dissolved in favor of a second one to wage war against revolutionary France. Britain, Austria and Russia, as well as the Ottoman Empire, Portugal, Naples, several German monarchies and Sweden have joined forces. 

All countries which Bonaparte had fought and signed armistices with during the previous years. France’s associates, Spain, the Polish Legions and the annexed Batavian, Helvetic, Cisalpine, Roman and Parthenopaean republics as well as Denmark-Norway are ready to fight back. 

The power of the Directory is crumbling as they speak - Barras is becoming more and more unpopular, the bribery and corruption he is allowing becoming bad publicity for the five sitting Directeurs. 

But, for today, Sébastien cannot think too much of politics. He has to stay home, while his wife gives birth to another child - he hopes for a daughter, but thinks it will be another son. And, to make time pass and try to not think of all the ways that a birth can go wrong, he has gone to sit by his son’s little table and is trying to help his son learn how to hold a quill and write on paper. But his son, Jean-Louis, is only four years old, and doesn’t know too well about how to hold the quill. 

“Look, you have to hold it like this-” Sébastien has tried three times now, but his son seems to only want to scribble and draw on the page. Jean-Louis has almost spilt the ink holder five times, and his fingers bear the marks of the expensive ink. Sébastien had wiped the table immediately after the first spill, but he fears that the wood will be soiled forever.

“Papa, why is mom screaming?” his son then asks, as the shriek of Marie-Louise echoes through the Roederer-estate, where they are still staying. It will soon be time for them to find their own home, but not yet. Sébastien still needs to find proper employment, and although helping the Directory has brought in some income, he is still in need of a job. A real job. He has considered following in Roederer’s and his own father’s footsteps to become a lawyer, having been around them most of his life, but… the political situation had called for much more than simply changing careers.

Not when the power of the Directory was failing and the prospect of Louis XVIII coming back onto the throne of France loomed on the horizon. If the would-be-king came back, the population would welcome him back. Sébastien doesn’t have any opinion of the exiled king, living in Prussia, England and Russia: as brother of Louis XVI, he is the rightful heir to the throne of France. But the monarchy had been abolished in 1792 by the Convention Nationale, deposing Louis XVI at the same time, before he had been executed by guillotine. 

Sébastien is tired. He knows that he shouldn’t be, but he really needs some rest. He hasn’t slept in days - they knew that Marie-Louise would go into labor soon, but it is only today that her water had broken early in the morning. So, he was now trying to pass the time by being the father he was always supposed to be for his son.

“It’s because we’re soon going to meet your little brother or your little sister,” he says, quietly, as he watches his soon to be oldest son scribble on the page again. It’s no use trying to teach him how to hold the quill yet - his son is no Marie-Thérèse de France, and he will never be a King or a Nobleman, but he will be more than a simple farmer, that much Sébastien knows. 

It all goes quiet right before Marie-Louise screams one last time. Footsteps echo through the room, before another cry reaches them, and Sébastien hoists Jean-Louis up onto his hip and gets up to go to the bedroom where Marie-Louise is delivering. He’s met with the face of Marie-Catherine, Roederer's wife, who takes Jean-Louis from his arms, avoiding his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, louder than he expected, but she gives him space to move through the door to see Marie-Louise, lying on the bed, sheets bloody and pale, covered in sweat. There’s the sound of a child crying, which should make everyone around them happy, but the faces of the ladies around his wife are guarded, and it is not until Marie-Louise lifts her hand, asking for him to take it, that he realizes what nobody is saying.

It is not his wife that is dead, nor his child. It is the second child, which one of the ladies has wrapped in a blanket, having dried it off and cleaned it from the gunk that comes with a birth. 

Marie-Louise lets a sob out. “I’m sorry, I thought- I didn’t know- I thought-”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Sébastien says, as he puts out his arms to take the little blanket and looks down at the face of the stillborn child. It looks perfect, and only missing the breath of life in its tiny little body. He doesn’t know whether it was a girl or a boy, but he loves the child nonetheless.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he murmurs to his wife, putting a kiss to her forehead, as he cradles the child, before handing it to her. 

Marie-Louise gently strokes the cheek of the baby, tears running from her eyes. “She’s beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice cracking on the second word, and Sébastien feels his heart skip a beat at the pronoun. A daughter. He would have had a daughter. No, he had a daughter. A beautiful, beautiful daughter, perfect in every way - but missing the spark of life. The contrast to the quietness of the daughter in his wife’s arms seems ever stronger when one of the ladies in the room hand him another blanket, wrapped around the other child, who is squirming and crying, hiccupping as it does, having drawn his first breath of fresh air in the world of the living.

“Hey,” Sébastien says to the little child in his arms, looking up at the woman who handed the child to him. 

“It’s a boy,” she announces quietly, as she leaves the room, giving the two of them some privacy. They will clean the bed later. Not now. Now is the time for Sébastien and Marie-Louise to look at their children, both of them, and realize what life has brought them and what it has taken away in a cruel twist of fate.

Sébastien pushes his shoes off and climbs onto the bed, making himself comfortable, and when Marie-Louise tells him that he’ll get blood on his clothes, he says he doesn’t care. He gets as close as he can be to her, each of them holding their child, her head resting on his shoulder, his head resting on hers, and they look down at what they’re carrying in their arms.

Marie-Louise doesn’t say much, but he can feel her crying - she’s gently sobbing, so he puts his one arm around her back and her shoulder, pulling her even closer, close enough that their foreheads are touching, as if they could become one being and one soul. Their hearts are, today, bleeding as one. He can only think back to how he met Marie-Louise, as they were both mourning the death of another child, on the steps of a church, in what feels like another time. The worries of the world outside melts away, as Sébastien waits for this moment to pass.

It doesn’t.

How can it? How could it possibly pass?

His wife is crying, her tears falling down her cheek and onto the fabric of his shoulder, and he too can feel the droplets falling down his own eyes. The son in his arms is well and alive, but the other blanket is lifeless and cold. Marie-Louise begins sobbing soon after, so he places his newborn son between his stretched out legs, taking his stillborn daughter into his arm, as Marie-Louise turns around, so that she lies her head on his stomach.

There is nothing that he can do or say, but he feels the pain of a million lives inside of him, as if the love that he had expected to give his children has been torn from his body and ripped apart to shreds. The blood on the bed makes everything worse, for the fear that Marie-Louise would die too sits deep in him, but the calm and composed demeanor of the women who had help the delivery had indicated that she would survive.

Whatever had gone wrong during the delivery had meant that their daughter hadn’t survived. Their son, his youngest, would have been a big brother too.

Sébastien lets his heart and his emotions take the best of him, and after what feels like an eternity, one of the women comes back with some hot towels to help clean up Marie-Louise. She takes their son away, tells them that they will take care of him while the both of them take this moment in.

When Marie-Louise and him are finally left alone with their daughter, it’s as if nothing could possibly stop the pain from flowing out of them. 

Embracing one another, cradling their daughter, they tell each other how sorry they are, how much they love each other, how much they would do and what they would have done to make sure this never happened.

Except it has happened. And there’s nothing they can do.

And, for the first - but not the last - time in his life, Sébastien will have to bury one of his children, and it will hurt just as much as the other times.

* * *

**23 Fructidor, Year IV (September 9th, 1798)**

They had never thought that the baptism of their second child would be performed right before the burial of their third child.

Sébastien is holding Jean-Louis in his arms, resting him against his hips, while Marie-Louise carries their youngest son in hers. They’ve decided to call him Jean-Paul Donatien Le Livre, in honor of Sébastien’s own older brother. 

There aren’t that many people here for the ceremony. Even though they have friends, some of them weren’t able to come. 

Not today. The Ottoman Empire has just declared war to France today, and the Vicomtes de Roederer and de Barras, as well as all the others that they know are busy. So, it is in an intimate ceremony that they baptize their youngest son, and will put their only daughter to rest under the blue sky above their heads.

Maximilien le Livre has travelled from Liège to Paris to see his son for the first time in almost a decade, but as soon as word of this tragedy had reached the Belgian city, he had given up everything to come and meet his grandchildren for the first time and say goodbye to the youngest of them at the same time.

Sébastien hasn’t seen his father in ten years: Maximilien le Livre hadn’t been able to come for their wedding, and it had caused Sébastien a lot of grief that he hadn’t had any family there to accompany him into his new life as a husband. But, when his father had arrived the night before the baptism and burial, they had embraced and cried in each other’s arms.

Life has not been kind to the oldest le Livre. He lost his wife soon after Sébastien’s fourth birthday to the same cough that had taken too many people in Europe and the rest of the world. Sébastien has also learned that Maximilien still has a little dash of hope in the idea that Donatien may be alive somewhere, for he has not heard the official word of the death of his oldest son, and this almost brings Sébastien to his knees with joy.

But, he hadn’t given any opposition or veto to Sébastien naming his second son in the name of Donatien either.

So, the priest had applied holy water to the child, blessing him in the name of the Son, of the Father and of the Holy Spirit before saying a prayer for him. The little girl hadn’t been able to be baptized into the faith community of Christianity, as that is meant for the living. However, Sébastien and Marie-Louise had asked him to bless her by tracing the sign of the cross on her forehead.

Thus, little Suzanne Elisabeth Madeleine le Livre had received a name, and it had meant everything to Sébastien and Marie-Louise that she be blessed, even though she could not receive the last rites, as she had come into this world already dead.

* * *

**I Brumaire, Year VIII (October 23rd, 1799)**

Things are brewing in Paris again, but this time, it is not on the streets that machinery and plots take shape. It is in the rooms of politicians, looking at the state of the Directoire after the fall of Robespierre and the imminent arrival of Louis XVIII, heir to the throne of France in Paris.

Royalists are ready to welcome back a rightful King, and if the last decade is to take anything by - if all the deaths amassed during the Révolution and the Terreur, if all the liberties taken and given are to go by, then going back to a monarchy would be unwise.

So, Sébastien finds himself in the midst of history once again. This time though, he watches with wary eyes, for what is being spoken in the room at Roederer’s estate is not to be heard by the wrong ears.

Maximilien le Livre has been invited by Roederer himself to take part in a conversation with Talleyrand, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, with Regnault de Saint-Jean d’Angély, Conseiller d’État who had followed Bonaparte into Italy, into Egypt and had been appointed to Malta as a commissary of the French government, with Constantin-François Chassebœuf de La Giraudais, comte Volney, philosopher and orientalist, who had been with Bonaparte in Egypt, and with Sieyès, one of the other five Directors of the Directoire. 

Barras is there too, but Sébastien can tell that there is something off about his presence at the table. Antoine-Marie Roederer is also at the table, listening to his own father’s words, just like Sébastien is sitting next to his own father. 

“Lucien Bonaparte has been elected as the Président of the Conseil des Cinq-Cent, which means that he holds legislative power over the Directory,” Roederer states, and Sébastien looks around at the faces around him. 

“Louis XVIII is coming soon - if any of the victories the royalists have taken in the country are to go by, he will be received into France like a savior.”

“I do not believe that letting France fall into the hands of its former masters is a good idea,” Talleyrand interjects, with a look.

“So, what are we suggesting?” 

Roederer sighs. “If this new Republican state is to survive, we must make sure that the government does not fade the moment a King shows up on the doorstep of the city.”

“We must replace the fading legislation by a new one.”

Maximilien le Livre makes a face, then shakes his head. “It won’t work - you cannot replace an executive directory by something else with force. That is a coup d’état, gentlemen, and if the people of Paris know of what transpires in the event of such a thing, then they will revolt.”

Sébastien dares not say anything, as the men around him sit back in their chairs, wondering.

Then, Talleyrand smiles. “It is not a coup if the Conseil des Cinq Cents vote on abolishing the Directoire in favor of a new form of government - but it would involve Napoléon’s strength and taking the legislative body out of Paris.”

Volney looks up at that, “Murat would accompany Napoléon, so we would have troops available, and, as we know, Bonaparte arrived in Paris just some days ago."

* * *

**17 Brumaire, Year VIII (November 8th, 1799)**

Where Thomas, Sébastien’s colleague at the presses, finds it odd that the minister of Police, Fouché, has halted all presses and independent stories, Sébastien knows what is brewing.

He has seen and heard the whispers, and tomorrow, the deputies will gather at the castle of Saint-Cloud to deliberate on the abolishment of the Directory in favor of something else. So, instead of giving away what he knows to be true, Sébastien simply feigns ignorance, while continuing to do maintenance work on the presses. For, if the next few days are successful, Roederer has written a speech that Napoléon will read to the people of Paris when…

Well. 

When the Coup has been successfully undertaken. If it fails, it will mean death or prison for all involved - including the current minister of police himself. Sébastien fears for the lives of his co-conspirators, but if it means saving the lives of people rather than igniting a new battle of republicans against royalists, then… then he would rather keep quiet about what he knows and watch the events around him unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Cheval du Morvan](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheval_du_Morvan) became extinct with the industrial revolution, and was replaced by breeds like the Nivernais or the Comtois.  
> The French Revolutionary Calendar was so weird but also so logical at the same time - I suggest you go look at [the Wikipedia page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Republican_calendar) on it, because it's so insightful (with great art as well!) and if you want to convert any modern date to that, I'd suggest using [this converter](https://www.herodote.net/calendrier-gregorien-republicain.php), where you have to pick your date in the "Date" box, and then click Convertir. 
> 
> Bonaparte's silhouette is looming on the horizon, and I can't wait to share the next few chapters with you, because I have absolutely LOVED writing Sébastien's feud with Napoléon Bonaparte. It's going to be fun, it's going to be tragic and it's going to hurt - but for those of you who know how Sébastien died for the first time, there's only one way to get there.
> 
> Let me know what scene you liked best in the comments (or which scene made you the saddest!), and as always, find me on [tumblr](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/) ♥
> 
> (ps: _you can also subscribe to this fic at the top of the page so you get an email notification when it updates!_ ☼)


	7. Maximilien Honoré Jules Augustin Le Livre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Directoire has become Consulate - three men now sit at the top of absolute power in France, but it won't take long before one of them decides that he shoulder be Premier Consul. Napoléon Bonaparte has risen to power through his military prowess and his tactical mind. To the great displeasure of one Sébastien le Livre, who seems to be unable to do anything as all those he loves fall around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual warnings apply with canon-compliant violence mentioned here and there, but I wouldn't wager that there are any specific warnings to keep track of here. Enjoy!

**Le Consulat** : _a top-level Government of France from the fall of the Directory until the start of the Napoleonic Empire._

* * *

**18 Brumaire, Year VIII (November 9th, 1799)**

Bonaparte had arrived in Fréjus some weeks prior, after leaving Egypt in a hurry - his troops had been decimated by the plague, while the strategic position of the country had fallen in the levels of interest for France. Loss after loss after loss in spite of an originally interesting quest for expansion had made Egypt a prized location for France.

However, the English had beaten them again, and again. And it is only because of that, that Sébastien knows Bonaparte is only in Paris to save his own skin and career: he had failed in his campaign in Egypt, and the mere fact that the leaders of the Directory are considering putting him in a position of leadership for the country makes him so inherently mad.

Sébastien had spent the nights prior to today arguing with his father: Maximilien, although old and aging, had thought about the best way to transition the Directory away from a royalist power grab, and a Consulate had been agreed upon, with Sieyès, Ducos and Bonaparte being named three temporary consuls. Sébastien had told his father to knock some sense into the others - Bonaparte would only do something that brought himself power and forwarded his position, not for the love of country, but because that is what Sébastien would have done in his place.

But, sadly, the wheels are turning.

And, at Saint-Cloud, Napoléon Bonaparte had been mere steps away from costing the Coup d’État its victory when he had failed to wait for the political negotiations to finish in order and properly.

Sébastien will hear from Roederer later on that Bonaparte had stormed the chamber, interrupting the discussions that his own brother had been presiding over. Talleyrand had arrived late to Saint-Cloud, and told Bonaparte that Lucien couldn’t keep order over the deputies and the discussion, with all of the deputies arguing over what to be and what to happen. 

Bonaparte had jumped at that, calling his soldiers to his side and barged into the room, armed with weapons, before being showered in paperwork, swear words and more. In the confusion of Bonaparte yelling at the deputies and the deputies yelling at him, an assassin failed his attempt on Bonaparte’s life, by hitting one of his soldiers instead: the attempt on his life had made Bonaparte even more vengeful for the failure of the legislative and political negotiations. Especially when Napoléon Bonaparte had been declared outlawed from the council for his outburst and interruption of the council..

At that, Lucien Bonaparte left his post as président of the Council, called Murat’s men at arms for the sake of his brother - asking them to storm the council of the chamber. Once the chamber had been stormed, Lucien managed to gather 62 deputies.

62 deputies, still loyal to Lucien Bonaparte assembled and passed a vote to dissolve the Directory and instate an executive Consular commission composed of the General Bonaparte and the citizens Sieyès and Ducos. The decree had been voted on for immediate execution.

And with the sound of cannons, the coup d’État had successfully given Napoléon Bonaparte the keys to almost absolute power.

* * *

**4 Nivôse, Year VIII (December 25th, 1799)**

The Constitution of the Year VIII has been approved and promulgated today.

It is Christmas Eve in Paris, and Sébastien, Marie-Louise, Honoré and Maximilien, as well as Jean-Louis and Jean-Paul are together for the celebrations. Jean-Louis is playing with a wooden horse that Marie-Louise’s brother, Honoré, had presented him, while Marie-Louise was nursing Jean-Paul.

“It won’t end well,” Sébastien says, even though they had promised to not talk of politics tonight. “I have looked into his eyes, father,” he continues, bringing a piece of bread to his plate and dipping it into the leftover gravy from the dinner they’ve just finished. “He will see this power grab and want more, I promise you that. Napoléon Bonaparte naming himself Premier consul for life means one thing, and one thing only: he is not done yet.”

Maximilien shakes his head, quietly, as Honoré exchanges a look with Marie-Louise. 

Having worked in the press in the days following the successful coup, Sébastien had seen how censorship and propaganda had established Bonaparte as a rightful savior and when he had been elected by more than three million votes as a lifetime consulate, well… It had been plain there for them all to see that the young general would not stop there.

Marie-Louise’s hand goes to Sébastien’s thigh, and he’s interrupted in the breath he had been taking to discuss more matters.

“Let us not talk of such things tonight, my dear,” she says, catching the eyes of her brother and her father-in-law. She readjusts Jean-Paul on her arm, and when all of them have their eyes on her, she smiles. “I have news to tell you all, messieurs,” she continues, a smile on her face.

Removing her hand from his thigh, she moves Jean-Paul slightly to the side and adjusts her dress again, “I have not bled for three months. I am with child again,” she says and Sébastien’s fork falls from his hand, hitting the plate on the table on its way down.

Jean-Louis looks up from his toy, shock on his face, startled by the noise of the fork, while Jean-Paul hiccups at the sound.

“You are sure about this?” Sébastien asks again, and Marie-Louise nods. “When- why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, but Honoré cuts him off.

“Another one! Le Livre, it would seem you’re unstoppable!” he exclaims with a large smile on his face, while Maximilien laughs, pulling out a letter from his lapel, handing it to Marie-Louise.

“Well, it would seem that tonight the only present would not only be another grandchild,” he says, as Sébastien looks over at him, then back at the letter in his wife’s hands. 

Marie-Louise hands Jean-Paul to Sébastien smoothly and opens the letter, as Sébastien rests his chin on her shoulder, peeking at the writing revealed when she cracks the seal open. His eyes go wide, and Marie-Louise can’t help but look up at Maximilien le Livre.

“He’s alive?” Sébastien exclaims before Marie-Louise stands a chance, as Jean-Paul in his arms makes a gurgling sound. Sébastien barely registers it, as he points back to the paper with his free hand. “Donatien is alive?” he says, a little bit louder again, as if the news seemed to be too much to be true. He readjusts Jean-Paul in his arms, before Marie-Louise hands him the paper, Honoré smiling at her, as Jean-Louis runs to her, arms up so that she can pick him up.

“What is wrong, maman?” Jean-Louis asks, from all his 6-year old might, trying to figure out what is happening around him. The look of dismay and surprise on his father’s face makes him feel uneasy, and Jean-Louis seems to be too caught up with the excitement of whatever had been happening on the piece of paper to understand.

Sébastien, still processing, watches his father. “You knew this?” he asks, tone a little harsher than he intended it to be, but still amazed. “You knew Donatien was alive?”

Clearing his throat, the older Le Livre readjusts himself on the chair he’s sitting on and makes a face that tells Sébastien exactly what he needed to know: for years, he had thought that his brother had died fighting the insurrection in Vendée, but apparently, he has been in Vienna, of all places.

“When the Armée royale was beaten in Vendée, a few of them were able to escape to Austria. Marie-Thérèse, having been welcomed to the Court of Vienna, had welcomed the few soldiers, and allowed them to stay in exile like herself. She wed the Duc d’Angoulême this very year, which seems to be a good and strong match.”

Sébastien lifts his finger, then looks over at Honoré. “You know that talking of the royals could get us executed for conspiracy if anyone heard us?” he says, looking over at Marie-Louise who waves her hand at him.

“Your brother is alive and you will have another child, is that not enough to make you forget the threats outside your door for one night, my love?” she asks, and then, Sébastien softens. She looks tired, and he has, after all, been talking of Révolutions and of plotting for far too long without paying too much attention to her.

“I am sorry,” he says sweetly then, while Jean-Louis looks over at him. “And you, this,” he points to the paper still in his one hand, “this means that you have an uncle to meet, bonhomme.” Jean-Louis makes a face at him.

“But I thought I already had an uncle?” the little boy says, pointing over his shoulder at Honoré who laughs at that, Maximilien nodding along with that too.

“Right you are, little man,” Maximilien replies, interrupting further discussions about plots by putting out his arm, demanding Sébastien to hand him his youngest grandson. “And you will also soon have a baby brother or a baby sister, how does that make you feel?” he asks Jean-Louis, who simply shrugs.

“I hope that he isn’t as loud as Jean-Paul when he can’t sleep is all,” is all he can say, apparently uninterested in the bundle in his grandfather’s arms. Sébastien sits still, still looking down at the letter in his hands. Jean-Louis suddenly looks up at his mother, almost hitting her in the chin with his head as he twists around to look at her. “I don’t want a little sister like the other one we had, please?” 

The sudden callback to the tragedy of the previous childbirth knocks some sense back into Sébastien and he snaps out of it. “No, that won’t be happening again, Jean-Louis, come here,” he says, inviting his oldest son back into his arms.

Jean-Louis crawls towards him and climbs onto his legs. “Where did you get that from?” Sébastien asks, pointing at the wooden horse that Jean-Louis has refused to let go ever since he came over to the table to join the adults and his younger brother.

“Honoré here gave it to, remember?” Jean-Louis asks, as if his father is the dumbest person on God’s green Earth, but Sébastien just chuckles at his reaction - Jean-Louis is all but six years of age, and there are still many things that Sébatien will need to teach him.

“Honestly, Sébastien, I would have thought with that brain of yours, you would remember that,” Honoré interjects, with Marie-Louise slapping him on the arm.

* * *

**11 Pluviôse, Year IX (January 31st 1801)**

“You have to leave, immediately! Go, now!”

It’s unclear which of the two Le Livres Honoré is talking to, but he’s brandishing a piece of consular paper. Sébastien looks up from Jean-Paul’s face, while Maximilien le Livre pushes himself up to a standing position, his frail knees almost giving out under the effort. He makes a grabbing notion with his hands as he asks, “What now?”

Marie-Louise immediately comes to take Jean-Paul from Sébastien’s arms, as he rushes to his father’s side to read the decree: 130 Jacobins have been exiled. The 130 citizens have been condemned with plotting against the Premier consul during the Plot of the rue Saint-Nicaise, also known as the Machine Infernale. Sébastien’s eyes flare up at Honoré, who looks out of breath.

“But we didn’t take part in that!” he yells, as Honoré makes a vague gesture with his hands.

The assassination attempt on Napoléon Bonaparte, his wife and daughter-in-law had taken place on the eve of the previous Christmas night, on the 3 nivôse, year IX. Bonaparte had been on his way to the Opéra de Paris for a midnight concert when an explosive device, a machine infernale, had exploded, costing the life of five people and injuring twenty-six others. This last year, in spite of it being somewhat peaceful in France, had seen Napoléon double down hard on former and current royalists. 

To answer this new royalist threat, Napoléon had reorganized the powers in the Consulat: the commissaries of the Republic became préfets, in order to centralize power. Several royalist leaders have been executed over the last couple of months too, while Bonaparte and the other consuls have taken residence in the Palais des Tuileries. 

That, especially, had made Sébastien terribly mad: Napoléon had ended the Révolution by the graces of the common people and he now lived and slept in the same rooms as the former king and queen of France. And, while all of that, Bonaparte carried a firm hand on the wars outwards of France: France was at war with Austria, which had, at the end of April, occupied Genoa after Masséna’s surrender. Later that same month, Moreau had crossed the Rhine and triumphed over the Austrians in Engen, Moesskirch and Biberach. 

The first plot against Bonaparte had been foiled by Fouché at the beginning of May, and two main plotters, Hyde de Neuville and Cadoudal left for London. Hyde de Neuville would then go on to leave for the United States where they would be safe from the wrath of the Premier Consul. The Austrians had then occupied the region of Nice after passing across the Col de Tende, which in turn had triggered Bonaparte’s crossing of the Alps and kick started his campagne d’Italie. Italy, a country he knew well from his time there before becoming Premier Consul.

All the while, Cadoudal, who had escaped to London had met with William Pitt, the English Prime Minister along with the Comte d’Artois, brother of King Louis XVI, in order to create even more royalist sentiment and support an insurrection. Bonaparte took Verceil while his brother-in-law, Murat took Novare at the end of May. Only a few days later, Bonaparte had entered Milano and reinstated the Cisalpine Republic, a sister republic of France in Northern Italy. On 26 prairial, year VIII - or June 14th 1800 - Bonaparte vanquished the Imperial army at Marengo, but by the end of the month, rumors had started to grow in Paris that Bonaparte had died in Italy. The possible death of the Premier Consul led to speculation about who would succeed him, with Bernadotte and Lafayette being some of the most recurring names on everybody’s lips. News of the victory at Marengo arrived two days after, followed by news that French soldiers had entered Munich. 

On the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille, Bonaparte had put down the first stone to celebrate a new monument on the place de la Révolution, but the war against Austria, Italy and the Holy Roman Empire continued, while Bonaparte penned the Code des Lois, which would later on become the Code civil des Français by the end of August of the same year. 

Malta had been retaken by the English at the beginning of September, while the armistice of Hohenlinden had guaranteed peace for 45 days, on the condition that Austria give up Philippsbourg, Ulm and Ingolstadt. By the time October came around, Bonaparte had ended the almost war with the United States, promised a piece of Italy to the Spanish with the Royaume d’Étrurie, while practically at the same time arresting the plotters behind the conspiration des poignards, the Daggers conspiracy. The plan was foiled by Fouché before it happened, but this only helped heighten Bonaparte’s utter paranoïac tendencies, and the violence with which he repressed all royalist talk also came to be felt in the presses, for all the gazettes and newspapers were now watched - and censored, if the Premier consul did not like what they were printing.

In November, Bonaparte had inaugurated the museum of Antiquities in the Louvre, showcasing their pillages from Italy: the Pythian Apollo and the Laocoön Group were parts of pieces shown to the public. The day after the inauguration, Alexandre Chevalier and Pierre Veycer were arrested for designing and creating a machine infernale, supposed to be used against Bonaparte. They will be executed on the 21 nivôse, year IX. A few days later, French generals received the orders to ignore the armistice with the Austrian forces and to restart hostilities. At the beginning of December, the Austrians led by the Archduke John of Austria were beaten by Moreau during the battle of Hohenlinden. Following that success, the League of Armed Neutrality was reinstated between Russia, Sweden, Denmark and Prussia. 

By the time they reached the end of the year 1800 and an explosive device had been set off in the streets of Paris in the rue Saint-Nicaise, Bonaparte’s firm grip on politics, the army and society in general had grown stronger than ever. Five days later, a royalist is killed in Paris without being allowed the benefit of a fair trial. Arrests had followed suit by the time the name of 130 Jacobins had been published.

Today, Joseph Antoine Aréna, a fellow Corsican general, has been guillotined. 

“Maximilien, your name is on this!” Sébastien exclaims, as he looks over to his father, who has handed him the list. The list almost exclusively has names from the Jacobins opposition. The list has been penned by Joseph Fouché, the minister of Police himself, or so it would seem. Sébastien knows that the assassination attempt against Bonaparte comes from Royalist motivations: the Jacobins, even if they did put Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette through a trial and cut off their heads, did after all, _put them through a trial_. “If you don’t leave, they will send you in exile to the Seychelles,” he continues, as the severity of the accusations finally seem to come to him.

He knows exactly how it looks to Bonaparte: Maximilien le Livre had arrived in Paris a little over a year prior - and seeing his son and grandchildren had only been a pretext - and with the known affiliations Le Livre had had to the Royal family, it hadn’t been a stretch to include him on the list. Sébastien is affronted, mad and angry at Bonaparte, even though he has only met the current Premier consul shortly.

“Then, I have no choice but to leave.”

Sébastien doesn’t have the words to express the rage he is feeling - Jean-Pierre had been born a couple of months prior, and if he didn’t know any better, he would have marched to the Tuileries and knocked on the door, demanding to talk to the Premier consul. He wouldn’t have gotten far and probably been shot dead on sight if he had, though - so he tells himself that it is for the best. It’s for his children and for Marie-Louise who looks at him right now and looks more terrified than she ever was during the Révolution. 

Honoré looks flustered as well. Roederer had been named conseiller d’État when the Conseil d’État had been created, and is currently president of the section of internal affairs, and in that way, Sébastien realizes that there is nothing that Roederer can do for his old friend. There is nothing to do but send his father on his merry way and get him out of Paris as soon as possible. Their neighbours throughout many years now know who Sébastien is - the baker knows Jean-Louis’ name and knows what he wants to bring home when he shops there, while Marie-Louise is on a first name basis with some of the other ladies and with the grocer down the street.

The peace they had thought and hoped for after the Révolution has just been whipped out from under their feet and Sébastien isn’t entirely sure how he is supposed to react. Maximilien stays standing though, pride and dignity on his face, as Sébastien struggles for words.

“Not now, Sébastien,” Maximilien says though, lifting a finger, motioning to Honoré. “Go fetch the driver. I will make my way out of Paris without looking back.”

Honoré nods, and Sébastien turns to his father. “But Donatien! Do you think somehow he got word of our plans to visit Vienna to see him? Surely, he must know that we are not assassins?”

Maximilien shakes his head. “Sébastien, I know that you know. You have told the Premier consul himself that you are a forger - that, in his mind, is all the conviction he needs to put us away if we even dare to present a threat to him. You should be honored that he considers us, and thus you, a threat.”

Sébastien wants to scream at that - he has children! A newborn, for crying out loud!

Marie-Louise, who has been quiet since her brother came in with the missive, finally stands up. The motion catches both Maximilien and Sébastien’s attention, and they look over at her. For a second, she looks like she doesn’t know what she’s going to say, but then the words come, and it doesn’t feel like she will be able to stop them: “If your father leaves, that makes us plotters all the same. Fouché may have only put you on the list,” she motions at Maximilien, “but if we even as much as try to help you leave through the gates of Paris, it will be your name,” she looks at Sébastien, “and yours too on there,” she finishes, looking over at Honoré who has come back from outside. “We cannot let that happen. Not for the sake of our future - we survived the Révolution, we survived blood on the streets, and we survived Robespierre, but if we give up the fight now and make a run for it, we will never be welcome back in Paris, or in France, for that matter.”

She looks over at Maximilien, and Sébastien notices that his father’s posture shrinks, and realizes what Maximilien will have realized too. 

“No.”

The word flies out of Sébastien’s mouth before he means it to, but when Maximilien lifts his hand to quieten him, Sébastien points his finger back at his father. “No!”

Marie-Louise looks like she is about to cry, but Sébastien’s mind is racing. “You can’t stay- you can’t- they’ll send you away! You won’t survive the trip, you’ll die before you even reach any of those God forsaken islands they send their enemies to!”

At that, Maximilien le Livre has nothing but a smile as an answer. “Then, if this means that the prosecution and the persecution of my son by the Premier Consul ends, I will gladly step onto that boat along with the other 130 exiled men.”

Sébastien searches for his words, but when his father’s eyes meet his, he realizes that there is nothing to be said at all. Nothing but the truth that his father knows and won’t even be able to lawyer out of: Marie-Louise is right. If any of them make a false move now, it will not only be the end for one, but for all of them. 

“No…”

The word barely makes it past Sébastien’s lips, but Maximilien’s face shows that the conversation is over before it even happened. 

* * *

Bonaparte takes Naples on February 18th, ending the conquest of Italy. The Russian Czar was killed on March 23rd prior to signing the peace treaty and leaving the question of Malta open. The Marquis de Sade is arrested at the beginning of March for his publications of Justice and Juliette, before being institutionalized at Sainte-Pélagie without a trial. 

* * *

The British beat the French navy in the bay of Aboukir in March. Three bridges are ordered built in Paris: the pont d’Austerlitz, the pont Saint-Louis and the Pont des Arts. 

The bridges of Paris used to be one of Sébastien’s and Marie-Louise’s favorite parts of their daily strolls through the streets - but now they will bear the name of the one who sent Sébastien's father to his death. 

* * *

The French are defeated at the Battle of Alexandria, an armistice signed on April 9th. 

Maximilien le Livre is arrested the day after the Battle of Alexandria by Joseph Fouché, minister of police and brought to prison pending his departure for the Seychelles. Sébastien le Livre isn’t allowed to say or do anything about it - the look him and Fouché share as they remove his elderly father is enough to extinguish any last minute courage. Fouché had looked over at Jean-Louis, Jean-Paul and Jean-Pierre, then at Marie-Louise, then back at Sébastien, and even though not a single word had been spoken, Sébastien had understood the threat as if it had been spelled out for him, plain as day.

Later in the month, Fouché will unearth the royalist plot and even though it should have cleared the names of the 130 Jacobins he is sending to their certain death, it doesn’t. A tribunal and a vote insist they be sent away.

Sébastien loses faith in the system a little more for each day that passes and nothing stands in the way of the Premier consul and his feud with the young le Livre.

* * *

The duchy of Parma is given to France in exchange for Toscana.

Sébastien can’t do anything but pace as his friend Thomas Mustelier at the presses tell him that he can’t employ Sébastien anymore. Something has come up, he says, and Sébastien knows what Thomas isn’t telling him - but he doesn’t hold it against Thomas either. When he comes home to Marie-Louise and tells her that their source of income is gone, she keeps her composure, but that night, both her and Sébastien fall asleep in each other’s arms with tears rolling down their faces. 

For with Donatien still alive and in Vienna, Maximilien’s estate will go to him. Sébastien is verily, truly at the end of his line. And yet, there is nothing he can do, for he knows that he’s being watched.

Forgers pay their art with their lives, Bonaparte had told him, when they had met. And, ever more, the threat and fear spreads in Sébastien’s chest.

* * *

The Napolitan part of Elba, the Principality of Piombino and the State of the _Presidi_ are given to France.

If there was any chance that Bonaparte could be killed in action, Sébastien is pained to say that he wishes for it. Marie-Louise has started wearing her cross necklace again, and although he has been baptized into the Christian faith, Sébastien can only look by as she prays to a God that he no longer believes in. For, if there was one, how come that him and his were now powerless to stop his father from being sent to an island that will surely kill him?

* * *

François-René de Chateaubriand publishes _Atala ou les Amours de deux sauvages dans le désert_ and suddenly becomes famous.

Sébastien hasn’t read a book for months. His eyes cannot focus on the letters anymore after having spent so much time in the presses putting one type after the other, forming words and sentences for a press that no longer was allowed to tell the truth. Bonaparte learned of the power of propaganda during his Campagne d’Egypte, and now that he owns and controls the gazettes, there is no more work for Sébastien.

And, the coins are running low. Honoré can sustain them for now, but it won’t be long before Bonaparte cuts off that source of income either. 

* * *

Sébastien finds work at the baker’s, who has agreed to let him work for him, as long as he helps him with figuring out the new taxes that the Premier Consul Bonaparte has set up to fill the government’s finances again.

The frigate _La Chiffonne_ left on 23 germinal, year IX - 13th of April. Among those on the boat, Jean-Antoine Rossignol and Fournier l’Américain will accompany Maximilien le Livre across the oceans for 89 days.

Sébastien isn’t allowed to say goodbye to his father, but a letter is delivered to him three days later. His father has written him something, but he doesn’t have the heart to read it, so he hands it to Marie-Louise and tells her to give it to him when she thinks he’s ready.

* * *

Francois-Joseph Carbon and Pierre Robinault de Saint-Régent, co-conspirators in the plot of the Saint-Nicaise are guillotined. The third co-conspirator, Picot de Limoëlan has vanished to the United States.

* * *

**26 Prairial, year IX (June 16th, 1801)**

“Why aren’t we allowed to go see the guillotines?” Jean-Louis asks, when he sits next to Sébastien, currently working in the baker’s store. He is currently working on figuring out the amount of taxes due, the amount paid to the baker himself and then what he will have left at the end of the month.

Jean-Louis’ hands are filthy with flour and his knees are filthy with dirt. He’s been playing on the streets again, and Sébastien knows that some of the other children had been allowed to go to the Place de la Révolution to see the guillotine work. But, Sébastien remembers how it had felt to see it fall, how it had felt in his gut to see someone else killed first hand. Killed is too kind a word - he had been murdered. Putting down the feather in his hand, Sébastien taps his thigh and invites his oldest son - now 7 years old - to sit on his lap. Not too long ago, a Princess of roughly the same age had sat in his lap and watched what Sébastien had been writing. 

He had been writing a letter for his father, to tell him of how things were going at Court and how he was enjoying life as a wannabe tutor for the royal children. Now, he has no father to write to, but the child on his lap is his own, and he is no wannabe father to him. 

Sébastien takes a deep breath, then sighs, looking for the words to explain to his son why exactly it is that he shouldn’t go see someone get their head cut off.

“Do you know what a guillotine does?” he asks, and Jean-Louis nods, mimicking the fall of the blade with his hand, making a “whoosh” sound at the same time. “It is a blade, like a knife, you know the knife, right? It cuts through everything that you put under it because it is so heavy. But the guillotine doesn’t cut through the pig or the cow or the chicken, like when you see Alphone working in the Butcher’s shop, you see? The guillotine is for…” the words falter, as he tries to find something to explain to his son what exactly the guillotine is for.

However, the word comes from Jean-Louis himself: “The guillotine is for traitors!” he concludes and Sébastien feels like he’s just been punched. 

“What did you say?” 

The air has been sucked out of his lungs and he feels his mouth go dry. 

“Antoine and Simon are saying that the guillotine is for traitors and murderers,” Jean-Louis repeats. Antoine and Simon are the sons of some of the other families living in the street and are about the same age as Jean-Louis. They’ve been playing together, and now Sébastien knows exactly how Marie-Antoinette must have felt when she had learned that Louis-Charles had been taken in by the shoemaker to make a nice little Revolutionary out of him.

So, instead of losing his cool, Sébastien turns Jean-Louis’ face towards him, so that he has nowhere else to look but into his father’s eyes. “The guillotine is a mistake. It is not for traitors.”

There’s a friendly laugh at that, and Sébastien immediately straightens his back as the baker comes into the room in the back. “The guillotine is a mistake, that much is true, but you cannot say that out loud anywhere with four walls listening,” the baker, Paul says. Sébastien is relieved when it’s only him coming through and nobody else - the arrangement with the taxes and the salary has been kept mostly between the two of them.

Marie-Louise had even managed to secure them the burned pieces of bread and the ones who weren’t good enough to sell that the baker didn’t keep for himself - or give to those who couldn’t pay for it themselves. Paul is a kind heart: his bakery had been ransacked during the Révolution by a mob of hungry Parisians, and still he fed them when they were starving out of his own pocket. Truly, the world was too good for a man like him. Sébastien sighs, but Jean-Louis interrupts him before he’s even spoken: 

“Did you know that my dad can write with his left hand?” 

Sébastien tries to shush him before he finishes his sentence, but Paul just looks at him, unphased. Thomas from the gazette hadn’t minded either, and Paul works with both hands as a baker, so he just shrugs at the information. 

“And did you know that if you pull my finger, it makes me fart?”

Sébastien is so taken aback by Paul’s joke that he’s as surprised by it as Jean-Louis who giggles a soft “Naaah, I don’t believe it!” at the baker. When the baker puts out his finger for the young boy to pull, he immediately produces a fart which even Sébastien can’t resist laughing at. While Jean-Louis worms his way out of Sébastien’s arms and off his lap, Paul shares a knowing look with Sébastien. 

Paul’s oldest son had been killed in the attack in the rue Saint-Nicaise. Both of them had felt safe during the Terreur, and yet it seemed when the world finally rid them of Robespierre, it put someone almost worse in his place. Cut off its head, and two more shall take its place, right? Wasn’t that how the old myths described the mythical being of the Hydra?

Sébastien watches his son weasel his way out of the back room, putting his elbow on the table, rubbing his eyes at the same time. “D’you think it’ll ever-”

“Don’t finish that sentence here, Sébastien. I am making you a favor, having you here, but please. Do not tempt fate anymore. We don’t know who is an informant for Fouché, and I don’t want to get in trouble again because of something I do. Not after Hugo was killed, please.”

Sébastien puts out his hand in an apologetic motion, adding a verbal apology, “Sorry, I’m just… Tired. I am tired of everything that’s been going on. It’s been over a decade since they stormed the Bastille, and yet, I still feel as if it only went from bad to worse, you know?”

Paul simply laughs at that, for there is no other reaction to have. What should he say, anyway? That he wants for things to go back to the way they were? That he wants to go back to being a small noble with privileges of having not to work every day of his life to make ends meet? That he wants to go back to being the son of a lawyer, naive enough to think that he would be able to read all the philosophical books he ever wanted, because he didn’t have to work a day in his life?

It wouldn’t be fair to the man currently helping him by gracing him with friendship - not when Sébastien had been so ready to do something else. Something worse. Something he knows he can do, but if caught, would have gotten him killed - especially knowing that the Premier consul himself is aware of his special skill set. 

No, Sébastien hadn’t begun forging money or papers, for he thought of his children and of his wife. If he were to die, who would take care of them? Any of the letters he has been expecting from his older brother have never arrived - he isn’t even sure if there is mail coming into France from Austria, not with the war going on, and he is anxious to see or hear anything from his older brother.

But his older brother cannot be the one to take care of Marie-Louise and his three children. Not after all that he has been through. Sébastien had briefly considered writing a missive to Marie-Thérèse, asking her for help, but that would simply have raised the question of where was he getting his money from? How could he afford to keep living where he was, when he had no income that anybody knew of?

When Roederer had asked him and Marie-Louise to leave as Bonaparte had been elected Consul, right after the Coup d’État, Sébastien had done so without a hush or a whisper for having lived with the Vicomte for so long without having to pay any rent other than help and assist, well… He had thought that they would be able to find someplace to stay that wasn’t too expensive or too small for a family. Even if, at the time, Sébastien didn’t know that the family would eventually become a family of five. 

“You know,” Paul says, interrupting Sébastien’s line of thought, “the Levée needs men for their Great Army,” he continues, eyes going to Sébastien. Sébastien is too old to be conscripted. “If the wars continue long enough, he will eventually have to go fight for the Consul. He has been elected to reign at least until your oldest son reaches the age for conscription.”

Paul’s middle child has just been conscripted into the Armée and sent off to fight in Italy - there had been nothing to do or say when the officers had come knocking on their door. The thought of Jean-Louis being called to arms terrifies Sébastien, but hasn’t dared let himself think too much of it: there is still at least a decade before his oldest son should receive the letter asking him to go fight for King and Country, and Sébastien doesn’t want to think about it now.

For a lot of things can happen in ten years, for better or for worse.

“He won’t fight for Napoléon,” Sébastien says, a vain smile on his face. “I don’t think that Napoléon will be in power when he is old enough to be asked to go fight for his country.”

Paul nods at that. “A lot of things can change, yes. But you and I both know that your father didn’t have to get on that boat either, and that you are working from my back room with nobody knowing you’re doing it except myself… well. You’re not like anybody else, Sébastien.” Paul pauses, adjusting his pants around his waist - he’s got the stomach of a baker and his wife chastises him for it. “Nothing is normal with you, and you better be careful. If you have a target on your back, it will only take one misstep for you to be judged just like your father was. And you’re a good man, Sébastien - I have seen the way you take care of your wife and how you love her, and your children. Don’t let your anger cost you that, please.”

Sébastien hadn’t ever really thought of Paul the baker as a friend, but he was almost the same age as Donatien was, and now that Sébastien’s father wasn’t around anymore, well… Paul was the only man he could talk freely to and hope for some sort of advice to come. 

“Thank you, Paul, I appreciate that,” is all he can say, as he hears some childish screaming from outside. Paul’s head whips to the side, and he steps out to the front of the bakery again, yelling at the children to stop playing inside and leave, go outside for once instead of making this whole place filthy with their dirt.

The sound of a normal life makes Sébastien feel better about his work - even though it feels like his entire life has ended, and even though it feels like it will never get better, it is only bound to. Right? For when one has reached the bottom, there’s only one way to go, up. Or at least, that’s what he hopes. 

He looks down at the paperwork in front of him, only to realize that Jean-Louis has scribbled on the paper he has been doing his counts and maths on. He laughs. Of course Jean-Louis had scribbled on the paper while he wasn’t looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [Pythian Apollo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo_Belvedere) is a beautiful sculpture currently in the Vatican City. [The Laocoön and his Sons](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laoco%C3%B6n_and_His_Sons) is another amazing sculpture, now also in the Vatican - Napoléon “stole” them both during his Campagne d’Italie.
> 
> There’s actually [a whole Wikipedia article](https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liste_des_jacobins_proscrits_le_5_janvier_1801) (in French, though!) about the 130 Jacobins who were sent away in 1801 here, and it’s actually interesting to look at who was on the list.
> 
> This is just one half of two chapters taking place during the Consulate before we jump into the Empire - one of my favorite time-periods to write Sébastien for, and it'll stretch across a couple of chapters (I have great things planned for the Empire! Just you wait!).
> 
> How did you like this chapter? I feel like it was cruel to send Maximilien le Livre off to the Seychelles, but life is cruel and Sébastien pissed off the Premier Consul, so what else can he do? But hey! Donatien is still alive! And there'll be plenty more of him coming up!
> 
> Let me know what scene you liked best in the comments (or which scene made you the saddest!), and as always, find me [on tumblr](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/) ♥
> 
> (ps: _you can also subscribe to this fic at the top of the page so you get an email notification when it updates!_ ☼)


	8. Honoré Emmanuel Chaussée-Tirancourt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Consulate is nothing but intricate puppet performance - nobody at the top of the French government dares oppose Napoléon Bonaparte, whose warmongering and plans will soon lead to his election as Emperor of the French by the Sénat and the French people. But, in the meantime, Sébastien le Livre must find a source of income: but when his every move, his every word and his every thought is being watched by the Police on suspicion of him being a royalist, what _can_ he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual warnings for canon compliant violence are in place. One of the scenes takes place during a flood and there's mention of people drowning.

**20 Vendémiaire, Year X (October 13th 1801)**

If things couldn’t go from bad to worse, the Premier consul has now decreed that bakers must have a specific license in order to do their craft. There had been a lot of talk prior to the decree going public, but now that it was, it had been a hassle to actually figure out what Paul had to do in order to keep being a baker.

Sébastien had offered to help him with the language used in the decree and figuring out what the different procedures were supposed to do. Paul would need to apply at the préfecture de police for a specific authorization, and if he ever wanted to stop his business, he would need to give a 6 months warning to the same préfecture.

It’s so that the Premier consul can control the amount of bread in the Capital some of them are saying, so that nobody gets too fat or too happy. Paul had, after figuring out all the paperwork and getting some help from Sébastien to write it all up as it was supposed to, gone to the Préfecture de Paris in order to get his license.

He had been gone for hours when he finally made it back to the bakery, where Sébastien had kept watch in the back room. Paul’s wife had gone to bed - she worked as a weaver in another arrondissement and would need to be up as early as her husband if she were to make anything in the morning.

Sébastien can’t help but fear that Paul’s license won’t be accepted - that somehow, someone will notice that the writing on the paper isn’t Paul’s own handwriting - it isn’t - or that someone will recognize Sébastien’s writing. It’s completely delusional for him to have this fear, but the past couple of months and years haven’t exactly done Sébastien any good when it came to his conviction that Napoléon Bonaparte was after him specifically. Forgers are convicted with death, Bonaparte had told him, before Barras and Roederer had told him that it’s okay, he did it for the children and not for the monarchy.

But what if Bonaparte had taken one simple look at Sébastien and decided that he was indeed a monarchist? After all, Sébastien came from the Holy Roman Empire, came from Liège, was a foreigner who used to stay and find himself at Court, and hadn’t exactly taken actively part in the Révolution. Wouldn’t that make him a person of interest, at least? Sébastien is afraid that his lack of action and his will to simply get through it would end up causing him more grief than if he had just shown his face during the Révolution. Just once.

Even during the Terreur Sébastien hadn’t felt so out of place and so worried all the time. He’s had to give his horse to Thomas from the presses, because with three children and a wife, Sébastien can’t also take care of him. Robespierre, as he had ended up being called until Sébastien gave him away, had been a good horse. He would be used as a draught horse, pulling the trolleys with newspapers and gazettes across Paris: he wasn’t afraid of the sounds of the city and he had stamina, so he would be able to hold the entire morning delivery route without tiring, unlike some other horses.

Robespierre the horse had brought Sébastien some money to make things a little easier, but… The French postal office has complete control of the delivery of letters and gazettes, and nothing has come from Donatien in Vienna in all the months since their father was exiled to the Seychelles: absolutely nothing. If the thoughts and the fears that Sébastien fosters in the dark of night are true, then any letters addressed to him coming from outside of the French territory could possibly be seized before they made their way to him. 

And, frankly, the paranoïa of having to figure out whether or not the shadows are hiding an informant is causing Sébastien to be unable to sleep at night. Marie-Louise had told him that there was nothing to worry about, that they couldn’t lose anything anymore, but Sébastien knows in his heart that there is plenty to lose: they have three children, and her brother Honoré hasn’t been reelected into the Sénat, which has replaced the Conseil des Cinq Cents in the Consulat.

There’s rustling outside of the room, and Sébastien moves the candle holder so that he can light up Paul’s way, but is surprised to find that Paul isn’t alone. He’s accompanied by what Sébastien recognizes as a police officer, and with the look on his face, Sébastien knows exactly what is going to happen. They’re going to ask him to come with them, and he will have no choice but to obey.

“I’m sorry, Le Livre,” Paul says, “but they wouldn’t give me my license unless I gave up the name of the one who was helping me with my finances,” he says, looking sheepish, sad and tired at the same time. Sébastien simply nods, and walks up to the police officer. 

“I’ll come with you without resistance, you can leave him be,” he states, and the officer nods.

“We’ll take you to the commissariat, there are some things we need to talk to you about. You’ve been flagged by the Premier consul and by the Minister Fouché as a person of interest.”

The hurtful truth of it is that Sébastien knew this would be coming: he knows that Aglaé de Polignac, the daughter of Gabrielle de Polignac, one of Marie-Antoinette’s favorite ladies in waiting, had tried to meet with Bonaparte at Malmaison, only to be received by Joséphine de Beauharnais instead, asking if there was any possibility to return to the monarchy. She had been rebuffed, and it had caused a little but of an uproar in the remaining aristocracy that Sébastien had heard of.

Papers going back and forth… Sébastien wishes that Roederer and Barras had just kept their mouths shut about his involvement in the Fuite to Varennes, because then he wouldn’t be in this position: nobody should have known that he was a forger, and nobody would have been the wiser. It annoys him. 

“Paul, if Marie-Louise comes by, tell her that I’ve gone with the police, please.”

He doesn’t look back as he walks out of the back room, following the police into the street. Thankfully, it’s so late that there are almost nobody else out on the streets, and he is thankful that nobody will recognize him if they look his way. The walk across the quiet streets is dreadful, and all the scenarios that he has imagined play back inside his head, all of them leading to a conviction and an execution. The Premier consul is as severe with the punishment of conspirators as Robespierre was, and Sébastien, for the first time in his life, fears for his own life.

* * *

**21 Vendémiaire, Year X (October 14th, 1801)**

“We’ve intercepted some letters from Vienna addressed to you.”

Sébastien watches as the police officer whose name he hasn’t been graced with puts down a neatly folded letter on the table. It is addressed to him, and Sébastien recognizes the handwriting immediately: It’s from his brother. So there had been mail sent to him, but his suspicions had just been confirmed: they were making sure that whatever came into the country wouldn’t contain anything that could lead to suspicion about a coup or an assassination attempt.

“That letter is from my older brother,” Sébastien says, through grit teeth. He needs to keep his composure - now is not the time to lose his cool, even though this is the absolute first, certain sign of life from his brother that he has received in years.

“Yes, it is. Donatien le Livre, yes?” the police officer says, looking at Sébastien like he was lower than him on the food chain. Sébastien decides not to bite at the obvious bait. “He was enlisted in the Armée royale de France and fought against insurrectionists in the Vendée before disappearing from the records.” There’s a pause as the police officer mimics thinking about whatever he just said. Sébastien bites his teeth together, in order not to say something he might regret. “And now, he pops up with a letter from Vienna, a city in one of the enemy states of France. You do realize what this looks like, right?” the officer asks and Sébastien nods.

“Yes, this has to do with the fact that my father was wrongly convicted of plotting against the Premier consul by your minister, Fouché, and sent off to die on the Seychelles in exile while the ones who were responsible for the assassination attempt on Bonaparte are still alive out there. We both know that it wasn’t the Jacobins who wanted to make it off with the Premier consul but the royalists, one of which I am not,” Sébastien spits. He is sitting down on the chair he’s been offered, but he won’t allow them the pleasure of seeing him get up from it: he just won’t.

The police officer sighs. “But you do realize that this doesn’t exactly work in your favor? I have it on good authority that you worked at Court from a young age, and I’ve even heard the word forger mentioned about you, Le Livre. You are not a true forger if someone knows your skill, because it means that everything you say, write or do will be second guessed. So, what do you truly think there is in the letter your brother has supposedly addressed to you?”

Sébastien can feel the bile rising in his throat - this interrogation has nothing to do with the letter, he’s sure of it. If anything, the letter states how much of his father’s estate he will inherit and how much money that is. As a matter of fact, that very letter would mean that he could stop worrying about income for a little bit and no longer have to rely on the kindness of his neighbors in order to sustain his family. For a nobleman, even one of the smaller ones at that, there is always a little bit of wealth to come from an inheritance.

And, Sébastien knows enough about his own father to know that whatever had been left to him after Donatien had deemed it enough as the new head of the family, would be enough to possibly move himself, Marie-Louise and the kids out of town. He desperately wants to read what the letter says, but he knows that it’s bait. So he doesn’t answer at first, and only when the police officer asks him again does he deign give him an answer to his question:

“My brother has written to me about the inheritance that we will receive from our father’s passing,” he says, flatly. The police officer looks annoyed, and leaves the room immediately, leaving Sébastien alone with the letter.

Sébastien dares not touch it, though: he’s pretty sure that someone, somewhere must be watching him. If Fouché was half as good as his job as Sébastien thinks he is, then every single move done to him since he had been asked to leave the Bakery and go with them to the Poste de Police has been closely calculated. So, he sits, and he waits for something to happen. 

The police officer comes back accompanied by another officer. Sébastien can immediately sense that this second officer is superior to the first one - if not in rank then in experience. The second officer takes the letter and rips the seal open, reading the letter aloud so that Sébastien can hear what is in it:

“Dearest Sébastien, I have heard from the Seychelles that our father has passed. As such, I have travelled to Liège in order to finish our estate and divide our inheritance accordingly - I have not married nor have any heirs of my own yet, but I hear you have three sons, which I look forward to meeting. You will find that I have divided father’s inheritance according to our current situations. I will be in Vienna - Liège is no longer my home. You are welcome to come and visit me, but if you cannot - or will not - I also understand and will arrange for your inheritance to be brought to Paris so that you may find yourselves in a place of better comfort again. I have missed seeing your face, little brother, Donatien.”

The police officer has barely taken a breath as he reads the letter out loud, and when both of them agree with a look to each other that Sébastien must be speaking the truth, they hand him the paper. Sébastien extends his hand and right as his fingers are about to close down around it, they snatch it away. 

“But this doesn’t explain why the Baker had to hide you in his back room. Were you doing anything illegal back there?” the second officer suddenly asks, and Sébastien feels like he’s been betrayed.

So, he takes a deep breath in order to keep his composure together.

“I was working in the back because I knew that anything I would do would be seen as suspicious. That hint, I was right on, because here I am in a Poste de Police, when I have done nothing wrong. The baker was in his full right to employ me with his taxes, and I have broken no rules or laws. Am I free to go now?”

Sometimes, Sébastien wishes he had become a lawyer, or at least acquainted himself well enough with the new Code Civil that Bonaparte has instaured. But, something in his tone of voice must read as that of a lawyer regardless, because the two police officers seem to double down on their passive aggressive demeanor. The second officer hands him the letter and finally moves aside, inviting Sébastien to stand up and leave. 

“You are free to go, Monsieur le Livre, but don’t ever do anything in secret again. We know all about you, and will not be afraid to arrest you again.”

Sébastien is relieved when he leaves the Poste de Police. At least he’s still alive - something that he wasn’t sure he would be when they had taken him away.

As he exits the building, he can see that the sky is right about to change from night to dawn, and the smell of humidity in the air that greets him reminds him that there are things simpler than politics and money troubles. As he slowly walks back towards his home, hoping that Marie-Louise hasn’t awoken the whole neighborhood to get him back, he wonders if he will ever find peace. 

They had survived the Terreur without getting into trouble one time, but now that it was over, it seemed that all they had ever done was coming back to haunt them. As long as they survive enough for his children to become adults - as long as he survives to see his brother again - then all will be well. 

It has to be.

* * *

**12 Nivôse, Year X (January 3rd 1802)**

There’s water everywhere in the streets of Paris - the Seine has flooded. Sébastien knows that this happens every now and then, it’s happened before, but nothing like this - the streets are filled with enough water to do permanent damage to the buildings.

“Hey, no, don’t do that!” he calls at Jean-Louis who has gone to the door again. They - thankfully - live on the first floor, so the water isn’t reaching their chambers and home yet, but looking out of the window there’s no doubt that if the water continues to rise, it will be a potential threat. 

Frankly, Sébastien was hoping that for once, just once, he would be able to enter a new year in the Gregorian calendar without a disaster befalling on his family. It seems he’s wrong.

“Can’t we go swim in it?” Jean-Louis replies, and Sébastien shakes his head, as Marie-Louise walks over to take Jean-Louis’ hand. 

“No, the current is too strong, Jean-Louis, you would be caught and taken away immediately,” she says, matter-of-factly, as she brings him back to the window where his two younger brothers are looking out over the streets below. 

“I should go help Paul,” Sébastien says, and Marie-Louise and him share a glance that says the unspoken - he shouldn’t, the situation with him being called to the Poste de Police had gone through the neighborhood like usual gossip, but when it had been revealed by someone that he had been let go and inherited some money from his brother, the gossip had died down somewhat. Most of the people in the street were still mad and incomprehensible about how Maximilien le Livre, such a wonderful man, so eloquent and so polite, had been shipped off to the Seychelles. The idea that he would have been a part of a terrorist attack against the Premier consul seems absolutely and incredibly absurd.

And yet…

Sébastien goes to the closet in order to find some clothing that he knows won’t take too much damage from the muddy waters currently filling the streets below, changes and walks over to the window. “I’ll be right back,” he says, before quickly kissing Marie-Louise on the lips, bending forward and kissing Jean-Louis and Jean-Paul on the forehead, before nudging slightly at Jean-Pierre who is still young enough to sit on Marie-Louise’s hip and try to fit his entire fist in his mouth - to no success.

Sébastien goes over to the door and jumps down the steps to the ground floor, feet immediately wet and cold and he begins to make his way down towards the bakery. Paul is already working on setting some of the things on the ground onto furniture, and when Sébastien swings the door open, letting in some more water - even though it doesn’t make much of a difference whether the door is open or not - he looks worried. 

When he recognizes Sébastien though, he eases up. “Good, take that and put it up here, we need to protect the grain and the flour above all else, I have to-” he heaves as he pushes a chair over a table, opposite another chair, “- get this right up here,” he says as Sébastien moves forward to lend him a hand in putting a wooden board up on top of the chairs. 

“Here, climb up there, you’re more agile than me, here,” Paul says, instructing Sébastien to climb onto the chair and receive a bag of flour, which Sébastien intuitively places on the makeshift table they’ve made several meters above the floor. The bag is heavy - Sébastien is surprised by it and he can feel it in his back the moment that Paul hands it to him - but he manages nonetheless.

“Is there anything else?” Sébastien manages to huff in between two bags, Paul handing him the next to last one. 

Paul looks around, he’s got a sheen of sweat on his forehead in spite of the freezing conditions outside and the wet water he’s mudding around in.

“The grain in the back, we need to get that up as well, I don’t know if the water will reach there if it continues to rise, but it looks like it,” he mutters, as Sébastien realizes that he can see the water out from the front windows and that it means that the Seine is still growing and rising. 

He takes the last bag of flour and throws it on top of the makeshift table, climbs down and accompanies Paul to the back, before piling several things on top of each other, hoping that the balance will be enough to support the heavy - heavier than the bags of flour - bags of grain that Paul has been keeping. He hasn’t been at the miller’s lately, grain is kept dry and cool in the back room, so there’s still enough to do good work with, especially since the harvest had been good this year. 

As they’re putting the bags away, Sébastien can feel that he’s getting colder and colder - he should have put on some more clothing, and with the sweat pearling on his forehead while in freezing temperatures, he imagines he’ll be sick in the days to come. But if Paul’s livelihood is compromised, then it wouldn’t have mattered, for Paul was feeding most of the neighborhood with his work. The bags of flour and wheat are the most important.

So, Sébastien puts his back into, and when he steps up onto a chair to throw the next bag on top of the others, the water makes it slip and he loses his balance. He manages, by some miracle, to twist mid-air and fall on the grain which stops his fall, and he barely registers Paul screaming his name, unable to catch him as he’s slightly away gathering the last bag of grain. 

Stunned, Sébastien shakes his head, brought back to his senses by the shock with the cold water. His hands are cold and wet and he can feel that the clothing on his back is completely soaked now too, sticking to his clothing as he gets back up. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, as he grabs the bag of grain and throws it at the table from which he just fell down, “I’m fine.”

It’s a repetition mostly for himself, for he’s pretty sure that he banged his head, but he isn’t sure - there’s ringing in his ears. He stands a little bit as Paul brings over the last bag, looking around, “That’s good enough, come, let’s get you back home and dry,” Paul says, even though Sébastien knows better than to leave his friend like this: there’s still plenty to move, but as he tries to resist by flailing with his arm, Sébastien feels that Paul is guiding him out towards the street again.

“You’re wet, cold and freezing, Le Livre, I won’t have it.”

There’s almost no reason for Sébastien to resist: the baker is stronger than he is, so when he’s out in the street, he knows there’s only one way to to go and that’s back home. He winces as he can feel something in the back of his head, and as he tries to massage it slightly, his fingers come away bloody and he realizes that he  _ must _ have hit his head on the way down from the table. 

He begins walking up to number 17, but he can feel the current of the Seine on his feet, and every time that he lifts his foot, he can feel his balance put slightly off. If he falls again, there’s a good chance that he may be swept away, so he very, very carefully takes each and every single step. There are other people on the street, he hears someone vaguely call at him what the hell he is doing in the street right now, but even that is slightly muffled. He must have hurt his head pretty bad for it to be like this.

When he finally makes it back to the number 17, and up the stairs, the water is up to above his knees and it took every effort to not give up and let the current take him. He makes it up a couple of steps before he realizes that he’s exhausted. He can feel something trickling down his back and when he puts his hand to the crane of his neck, the blood smears on his wet fingers and he sighs. He looks up the rest of the flight of stairs - there aren’t that many, but he’s so tired. 

The idea of a warm bath in some way motivates him though, so he pushes himself up and slowly climbs the stairs, one at a time, until he’s at the door. He knocks, and Marie-Louise opens a couple of seconds later.

“Sébastien!” she exclaims, immediately putting down Jean-Pierre on the floor and opening up the door wide enough to let him through. Closing behind him, she guides him to one of the chairs around the dinner table and sets him down. Jean-Louis and Jean-Paul’s gazes are on him, and Sébastien would wish they didn’t have to see him like this. He’s filthy and soaked. “What happened?” Marie-Louise asks immediately, as she runs to the fire-place, motioning to Jean-Louis to come to her side.

“Here, put some more wood in there, we have to heat up the water for your father,” she says and Sébastien’s oldest son obliges, careful as to not burn himself. She rushes back to Sébastien’s side and begins to remove his clothing. She throws the wet rags on the floor, and realizes that Jean-Pierre has made it to it right before he picks it up and brings it to his mouth, so she yells a “Jean-Paul, take this away from your brother,” and is obeyed almost immediately. 

Jean-Pierre, frustrated, begins to cry, while Sébastien winces at the movement. She hasn’t realized he’s bleeding from the back of the head yet, but when she removes his vest completely, she sees the stains and gently bows his head forward so she can see the cause of the blood.

“What happened?” she asks again as Sébastien winces.

“I fell off the table- I’m fine, I’m fine,” he repeats, and looks up at her with what he hopes is puppy eyes to calm her down, but she looks more worried than necessary. 

“We’ll have to get someone to look at that,” she says, and he shakes his head.

“Not after today, there’ll be more people in need of a doctor than me, it’s just a scratch,” he replies, pushing away her hand, taking it in his own and kissing it. “I am fine, Marie-Louise, I promise. It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore,” he says, but she doesn’t look convinced. She asks him to lift his arms then and pulls off the undershirt, throwing it to Jean-Paul, before walking over to the fire-place and removing the pot filled with hot water. 

As she comes back towards the living room table, she puts down a dry and clean rag into the hot water and begins to gently wipe away the blood from Sébastien’s face.

“Jean-Louis, go fetch the soap,” she orders, and he does so immediately. Both of the older boys must sense that something is wrong, for they do not react like they usually do, which is to say moan and complain. Maybe they’ve realized that the blood on their father’s clothing means that they need to focus and do exactly as their mother says.

Sébastien feels the kindness of Marie-Louise’s hands and remembers how she cared for the royal children at Versailles, and knows she’s mended and cleaned enough small wounds that she knows what she’s doing. As she’s gently wiping away, he interrupts her, to kiss her hand again, and look over at Jean-Louis, who is standing slightly to the side, looking like he’s moping. 

“I’m fine, Jean-Louis, I just fell and hit my head,” he says, but that doesn’t really seem to reassure his son. “Come here,” he asks, as Jean-Louis comes and climbs onto the chair next to Sébastien. “See, it’s a scratch. And the hot water you made for me is making me feel better,” he says, grimacing as Marie-Louise passes the rag across the wound. She purses her lips, he catches it, but now that he has Jean-Louis’ attention, he isn’t going to let the pain show.

“I am fine, it’ll heal up, no worries.” He smiles, but Jean-Louis isn’t completely sure.

“Help your father get his pants off,” Marie-Louise then orders, and pushes Sébastien back against the back of the chair as he tries to bend forward. “You, don’t move, we’ve got to get you into dry clothing and into the bed, you’re freezing like ice already.” Sébastien dares not argue with her, so he lets his son pull off his pants and throw them in the same pile as the rest of his clothing. 

As Marie-Louise dips the rap into the hot water again, she puts her hand on her hip. “See, we got most of the filth off you, but since the water’s hot, I’d like to pour it over you. Get up,” she barks, and Sébastien obliges. He can feel his equilibrium being slightly off balance, but he stands up nonetheless, as she slowly and delicately pours the hot water onto his chest, arms and back. It feels good, and when she hands him a dry rag to dry himself with, he knows that she’s doing absolutely the best she can.

“When you’re dry, you’re going to bed, we’ll handle the rest, right, les garcons?” she asks, and everyone - including Jean-Pierre who mimics his brothers - nods at that. They probably don’t exactly know what handling it entails, but that won’t stop them.

He slowly manages to wide his body off all water - both from the Seine and from the bucket - and he walks over to pick up the dry clothes Marie-Louise has laid out for him on the table. Passing the shirt above his head takes a couple of minutes of effort, but he manages to get it on. He puts his fingers to where he had been bleeding, and they come off less bloody as before, which means that the wound, whatever its size and wherever it was, was beginning to clot. Good. Not too serious, then. 

As he removes the bedcovers - even if it’s the middle of the day - he can feel a tugging at his feet and sees Jean-Pierre there. Bending forward to pick up his youngest son, he then places him on the bed, as he climbs in, slowly. Jean-Pierre watches Sébastien with his big blue eyes and Sébastien smiles back at his son, holding out his hand. Tiny fingers close around his index, and Jean-Pierre crawls closer to his father. With a little effort, Sébastien manages to adjust his son to lie in the crook of his arm, and pulls the covers up again. 

Whatever was going to happen, Jean-Pierre had understood that a nap was in order, and by the looks of it, sleeping in his parents’ bed was an opportunity the 2-year old wasn’t going to miss. So, when Marie-Louise comes back from one of the other rooms, she simply smiles at the two of them. Sébastien can feel the pain in his head, and closes his eyes. He just needs to rest a little bit, it’ll be all better tomorrow, he’s sure of it.

* * *

**13 Nivôse, Year X (January 4th, 1802)**

“He’s got a fever.”

The doctor looks exhausted as well - he’s certainly been busy all day and all night, looking at possible injuries and other illnesses in the wake of the flood the day before. He’s had one look at Sébastien and shaken his head. 

Marie-Louise has Jean-Pierre on her hip, with both Jean-Paul and Jean-Louis at her feet, hanging onto her because they could sense that there was something wrong. “But he will pull through, yes?”

The doctor makes a face. “Lift your head for me please,” he asks Sébastien, who obliges with a whine. His breathing is raspy, and there’s no doubt that there’s something going on in his lungs, and Marie-Louise hopes - and prays, her hand going to her cross necklace - that it isn’t consumption. She’s seen what it does to people, but it shouldn’t have come this fast. Consumption takes months to kill, and this has happened overnight.

She watches as the doctor fiddles with Sébastien’s head injury, before shaking his head again. Sébastien lies back onto the pillow, and when the doctor gets up from the bed and walks out of the room in order to give Sébastien some peace, he looks a little bit defeated. 

“He’s got some form of pneumonia, I’m afraid. The cold waters of yesterday must have done something to him, and that injury on the back of his head is infected. You’ll find some yellow oozing on the pillow, you have to clean it. Do you know how to-”

“Boil the cloth and apply boiled water to the wound, yes,” Marie-Louise interrupts, as she strokes Jean-Louis’ hair. The child looks up at the doctor as the doctor closes his little suitcase.

“Will dad be alright?” he asks, and the doctor puts on a facade for a second, which Marie-Louise appreciates. Sébastien had been coughing all night, and it’s only this morning that it has calmed down for the sake of raspy breathing. She can feel that he’s in pain when he’s breathing, so she’s tried to apply hot cloth to his chest, but he had gone from pale to paler in the early morning, so she’d sent Jean-Louis out to fetch the doctor.

“If he makes it through the day, yes,” the doctor says, and Marie-Louise appreciates the honesty. “You have to take good care of him, yes? You’re in charge of the house while he’s in his bed, so make sure to look after your mom and your brothers, alright?” he says, and Jean-Louis stands up slightly more upright.

“I will, I promise!”

The doctor exchanges a look with Marie-Louise without saying a word and leaves the little apartment through the main door. Marie-Louise sets down Jean-Pierre onto the floor and Jean-Louis immediately begins distracting the child at the sudden change in posture while his mother goes into the room. She knocks gently, and Sébastien opens his eyes. He’s feverish, the bedcovers and his clothes were soaked when she had come in during the morning.

“How are you doing, mon amour?” she asks gently, as she comes to sit down on the bed. Sébastien makes a face, trying to sit upright, but she stops him, “No, it’s okay, stay there.”

“I’ve been better,” he rasps through two breaths, but Marie-Louise simply smiles at that, putting her hand on his. He takes it, and she can feel his thumb stroking the palm of her hand kindly. “How are the children?”

She looks down at her other hand, currently fidgeting with a loose thread in her corset, and smiles weakly. “Jean-Louis is taking his role as the head of the house of le Livre very seriously when he found out that’s what he was supposed to do,” she says and Sébastien almost laughs. “They’re doing okay.”

“Has Honoré been here?” Sébastien asks, and Marie-Louise shakes her head. She puts a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, biting her lower lip, unsure what to say.

“They say that there’s multiple dead from the flood, as it happened so quickly, but-”

“Don’t, he’s probably fine. He just hasn’t made it back yet, I’m sure.” He pulls on her hand slightly, forcing her to bend forward so that he can kiss the back of her wrist, before letting her go again.

It will be a few days before they hear from the Poste de Police that Honoré’s body has been found lifeless. He’s drowned, there’s no sign of foul play. There had been several bodies lying on the streets as the water receded, and it had taken a little bit of time to identify them all.

As he slowly makes it out of bed, Sébastien feels it upon himself to hold Marie-Louise as she cries into his chest. The children can’t completely understand what’s going on - death isn’t something they understand yet, and Sébastien doesn’t have the heart to tell them. So, as he feels his lungs get better, he holds his wife as close as he dares and kisses her hair while she cries.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair to her that she has lost so much already. It just isn’t.

* * *

**19 Fructidor, Year XII (September 7th, 1804)**

War with the United Kingdom is looming on the horizon. All for the sake of the tiny little island of Malta. Sébastien isn’t even sure why Napoléon Bonaparte is so inclined in keeping the little island, but the diplomatic crisis has led to the arrest of all English citizens currently in France.

After selling Louisiana to the United States, Napoléon had invaded Holland, and as a response, the British navy had invaded Malta. The British ambassador has left Paris and France altogether, coming back to the United Kingdom, while all French and Dutch ships have been barred from entering port in the United Kingdom: there’s an effective embargo in place.

Sébastien reads in the newspapers that the Royal British Navy has seized about 1200 Dutch and French ships and almost decimated the French Navy, which would make trading and traveling to the French colonies in the New World that much harder.

But, with all this talk of War and plotting against the Premier Consul, well… The Sénat had held a decisive vote in the Spring. 

Murat had been named Governor of Paris at the beginning of the new year, while Bonaparte had seen to it that several royalist plotters be arrested and executed: Jules de Polignac, the son of Madame de Polignac, Marie-Antoinette’s favorite at court, had been present when Georges Cadoudal, the leader of the Chouannerie, the royalist uprising had been arrested in Biville. Moreau and Pichegru had been arrested in February, Polignac, Rivière and Cadoudal in March.

Following that, Napoléon Bonaparte had ordered an inquiry as to whom could possibly have helped the royalist plotting, and the name of Louis Antoine de Bourbon, Duke of Enghien came up. He was kidnapped from his home in Bade by French soldiers, brought back to Vincennes and summarily executed with a makeshift trial on 29 Ventôse, Year XII, or the 21st of March 1804. 

The news of the execution of the Duke has caused ripples outside of France and in most of the surrounding monarchies. The Russian Tsar, Alexander I, had been particularly shocked at this violent repercussion and soon, it seemed that all of continental Europe and the United Kingdom was discussing Napoléon’s move. 

However, within France, the execution had been approved by the Sénat. On the orders of Talleyrand, a vote had been suggested to elect Napoléon Bonaparte as Emperor, mimicking the traditions of Rome where an Emperor was elected by its Senate. The vote had been ratified on 27 Floréal, Year XII, the 18th of May, and then Napoléon had asked the French people to vote for it. 

Over 3,5 million people voted for the proclamation of Bonaparte as Emperor, against only a handful of opposing votes. Cadoudal had been guillotined, Talleyrand named Chamberlain, while Fouché, who had been disgraced the year before, returned as Minister of Police.

The British have now also attacked Boulogne-Sur-Mer, but the new Emperor of the French, Napoléon Ier seems to not be completely bothered by it yet. Sébastien knows that the Emperor - he can’t believe that Napoléon is now an  _ emperor _ \- is in Aix-la-Chapelle to assist a Te Deum ceremony. They’re going to present him with the earthly remains of Charlemagne, for crying out loud.

From the moment that Sébastien had heard of the plans from the Sénat to put it to the vote, he had been out of his mind with anger, rage and fear. Bonaparte’s Consulat had been an authoritarian regime, that much was true: newspapers were censored and freedom of speech was limited to whispers among those you trusted.

It had taken months for Sébastien to recover from his accident during the flood of Paris two years prior, and with Honoré’s death and burial to organize, things had moved fast. He’s received a letter from his brother yet again, inviting him to Vienna to see Ludwig van Beethoven perform - the letter spoke of the great charisma and skill of the composer, and Sébastien had long considered going. 

Taking his family and his children to Vienna, fleeing the country and making it to the Holy Roman Empire in one piece would be one way to make sure that they all survived whatever Bonaparte had in mind. But, sadly, the memories of the fuite to Varennes are still fresh in his memory, even if it’s been over a decade, and Vienna is far. Too far, perhaps for them all to travel. The King and Queen of France hadn’t made it far, and they’d had the best horses and assistance on the roads of France, what chance did Sébastien have if he suddenly decided to make a run for it?

Bonaparte and Fouché had sent his father to the Seychelles, and he had been brought to the Poste de Police on suspicion of being a part of the royalist insurrection just for the sake of his blood. What kind of signal would it send if he tried to flee now?

It’s been a subject of many fights between Sébastien and Marie-Louise: Marie-Louise thinks that they should stay in Paris, that nobody would dare touch her or Sébastien because they have shown nothing but good faith so far, even letting Sébastien’s father be sent to the Seychelles, but the fact of the matter is, Sébastien wants nothing to do with Bonaparte. He had spent many nights trying to tell her how serious the matter was that Bonaparte, the  _ Emperor _ , knew that he was a forger.

But, she had done nothing but put her fingers on his lips and told him that it will be alright. Nothing will happen - they’ve survived this far, what could possibly happen? If anything, they have become more bourgeois than noblemen, and she is satisfied with the fall from one class to the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flood of the Seine in January 1802 was caused by extreme snowfall in the previous weeks, which then melted when temperatures reached just above the freezing point. It only made sense for Sébastien to experience it firsthand - and the incredible violence such a flood causes. Losing his brother in law that way is but a strike from above.
> 
> How did you like this chapter? Killing off Honoré felt like a low blow, but I mean, we gotta keep the deaths coming, right up until the chapter title reads " _Sébastien Alphonse François le Livre_ " because we all know what happens in 1812... 😬
> 
> What scene did you like best? I loved writing Sébastien falling off the table, because hurting Booker is one of my favorite passtimes. (I mean, the sad French depressed immortal is a perfect muppet to express catharsis with, so... what was I supposed to do? _Not_ hurt him? *laughs*)
> 
> As always, find me [on tumblr](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (ps: _you can also subscribe to this fic at the top of the page so you get an email notification when it updates!_ ☼)
> 
> (PPS: I realized through discussions on the "Booker Enthusiasts"-Discord that more of you read my fic than I'm aware of, so please, _please_ , let me know you like it in some way, shape or form - tag me on Tumblr or @-me or something, _please_? I don't bite!  
> Knowing that there's actually, apparently, a _lot_ of you reading means that I'm even more motivated to write on this story and keep updating every week! I have actually been considering dropping to a new update every two weeks, but if you guys are loving it, I'll stick to the weekly updates!)


	9. The Symphony No. 5 in C minor of Ludwig van Beethoven, Op. 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France is no longer a Convention, nor a Directoire, nor a Consulate. It is now an Empire. For Napoléon Bonaparte was crowned in the Cathédrale Notre-Dame, becoming Napoléon Ier in the process, and putting yet another name to what France will be called in the history books. As time goes by, Sébastien le Livre realizes that things are getting harder and harder for him: where the Terreur had left him relatively unscathed, Napoléon's personal vendetta seems to be draining him. However, when an opportunity to travel to Vienna and witness Ludwig van Beethoven at work, Sébastien brings his entire family with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter that's not the name of a person dying in this chapter?! How can that be? Well, because nobody has died - yet. So, instead, I decided to go with the famous [Symphony No. 5](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKl4T5BnhOA) (dun-dun-dun-duuuuh!!!) because that's the mood for how this chapter ends.
> 
> Enjoy, lovelies!

**Empire** : _the empire ruled by Napoleon Bonaparte, who established French hegemony over much of continental Europe at the beginning of the 19th century._

* * *

**10 Frimaire, Year XIII (December 2nd, 1804)**

Napoléon Bonaparte has crowned himself Emperor of the French and his wife, Joséphine de Beauharnais, Empress of the French in the presence of the Pope, Pius VII, at the Cathédrale Notre-Dames de Paris. 

It’s all Sébastien’s fears come true and there is absolutely nothing that he can do about any of it. All those years prior, when Roederer and Barras had introduced him to the young Corsican general who had just come back from Italy victorious, he had seen it in his eyes: military power wouldn’t be enough for Napoléon Bonaparte. It wouldn’t. And, as the entire city of Paris seems to celebrate the crowning of Napoléon, first of his name, Sébastien can’t help but feel some sort of resentment of it all: the people of Paris had fought against the Monarchy hard, and suffered incredible losses throughout the Révolution and the Terreur, and now they had voted for this man to become emperor, for life? 

He didn’t understand any of it. It didn’t make any sense whatsoever for him: why would they overthrow the government when it consisted of a king, only to elect another version of a king to the head of the government barely a decade later?

Napoléon Bonaparte has managed to get the Pope Pius VII to come all the way from Rome to bless this new Empire. 

Joséphine, Napoléon’s wife was crowned Empress of the French, even if she still hasn’t given Napoléon any children in all the years they’ve been married. Sébastien is well aware of the different rumors going about Napoléon’s or Joséphine’s sterility, but nobody dares speak of it too loudly: considering just how strict Napoléon is with the presses and how strict his Minister of Police is, it wouldn’t look good for Sébastien to be mentioning anything like that to anyone.

* * *

**December 22nd, 1808**

Sébastien has heard it all before - being the son of a politician means being aware of the different politics that happened between states, War was something he was familiar with, on a certain level. So when Napoléon had decided to set up camp at Boulogne-Sur-Mer in order to prepare an invasion of England, he hadn’t been surprised to say the least. It’s more when Napoléon had decided to pull back all 200,000 men from the coast and venture straight into the heart of Austria that he had been surprised at it. The whole manipulation of that many soldiers and the movement itself had changed the name of the army to the Grande Armée, the Great Army. Never before had there been such a change of pace and repositioning, and when he had won a battle at Elchingen, then at Ulm, and finally decimated the Austrian forces at Austerlitz, Napoléon had made sure that every single foreign nation of Europe and abroad knew that he was a tactician beyond pairs.

The victory at Austerlitz had culminated with the Traité de Presbourg between Austria and France, which created a little but secure peace for a while. 

The next year, in 1806 - with the return of the Gregorian calendar, thank God - the Holy Roman Empire had dissolved. After almost a millennia, the Empire disappeared when Francois II signed a treaty creating the Confédération du Rhin instead.

While he was off warmongering in his expanded Empire, Napoléon sent back projects of architecture and expansion of Paris: new fountains, bridges, and now, even, an Arc de Triomphe was to be built on the Place de l’Étoile to celebrate his victory at Austerlitz. The first stone had been set down on August 15th, which as now and until the foreseeable future to be known as the Saint Napoléon, for it was his birthday. 

Sébastien could have said a lot about the parallels between Napoléon and thinking himself to be Jesus by celebrating his own birthday, but he kept those thoughts to himself. The first four years of the newly founded empire have been difficult on Sébastien: he knows that his name is on an unofficial list of forgers and persons of interest to the French Empire, and he knows that at the first misstep, it could cause him to be sent off into the Grande Armée, conscripted by force, or worse, sent into exile on one of the islands that France still possesses.

By the end of 1806, a Fourth Coalition had formed between the United Kingdom, Sweden, Prussia and the Russian Empire against the French, which had made Napoléon surge towards Berlin, taking the City after winning at Iéna and Auerstadt. By the end of November of the same year, he was in Warsaw, and Sébastien had heard rumors of yet another mistress in the bed of the Emperor, the Countess Marie Walewska, a Polish noblewoman. Poland had been separated between Austria, Prussia and Russia some years prior, and it Napoléon had created the Duchy of Warsaw in 1807 in an attempt to give the Polish some of their independence back. In 1807 Talleyrand had been sent back and quit as Ministre des Relations Extérieures before coming back into the good graces of the Emperor in 1808. 

But, for now, Napoléon Bonaparte is in Spain. There have been uprisings against the French rule and against Joseph Bonaparte’s appointment as King of Spain. The people of Madrid had revolted against the idea of their King being removed from office - an uprising which painter Francisco Goya would later on immortalize in his groundbreaking painting, _El tres de mayo de 1808 en Madrid_. 

But, the Emperor is in Spain. And with Fouché, Minister of Police, occupied with other things - like the possibility of the Emperor not making it back alive from Spain - Sébastien has taken an opportunity.

It’s been years since he’s seen his brother, Donatien. Donatien has been in Vienna ever since the Armée Royale de France had been beat in the Vendée, so it is actually close to a decade. In spite of this, Sébastien has never dared leave Paris long enough for a trip to Vienna, in the heart of Austria. With the surveillance he knows is on him, it’s very risky for him to do just that.

But, with the current political landscape in Paris, he had organized it. Mostly because Donatien had, in a very unclear phrasing, said that he was being invited by Marie-Thérèse de France herself. Little Marie-Thérèse de France who was now 29 years old, a married woman, living in exile in the United-Kingdom. Little Marie-Thérèse who had sat on Sébastien’s lap as he read her poems and helped her learn how to write. 

How Sébastien had actually figured out that Donatien was mentioning her and not something completely unintelligible, he still doesn’t know - for someone who could be a forger, he still wasn’t sure how those details managed to get past him the first couple of times he read the letter. But it had been worth it, because the Police hadn’t asked him about why a letter addressed to him had a personal invitation by the former Princess of France to come to a Concert in Vienna, of all places.

So, taking the opportunity, Sébastien had arranged the travels under the excuse of celebrating Christmas with his brother - which was the official excuse anyways.

So, here they are, in the Theater an der Wien in Vienna, on the 22nd of December of 1808, ready to watch Ludwig van Beethoven play the Fifth and Sixth Symphony, the Fourth Piano Concerto and the Choral Fantasy for the first time. Sébastien likes Beethoven - mostly because Beethoven’s Third Symphony had originally been named “Bonaparte” in honor of Napoléon, but rumor had it that Beethoven, in a fit of rage, had renamed the Third Symphony into the Heroica instead when he heard that Napoléon Bonaparte had crowned himself Emperor. 

Sébastien automatically liked any man who reacted like that to the rise from Premier Consul à Vie to Emperor, and so, he hoped to meet the 38 year old composer at the end of the concert - although he still isn’t sure whether or not that will be happening. Beethoven is losing his hearing, and from what he’s heard in Vienna, that means that he isn’t too keen on meeting people anymore: the humiliation of not being able to hear what is being said to him was too much for him to bear.

Donatien had greeted Sébastien at the border to Austria. His older brother looked like he had expected him to - like he used to, but with more lines around his face, and with more scars than he remembered him. As it turns out, Donatien has been keeping a lot from Sébastien, which he can’t write in the letters sent to him, for fear of espionage and censorship.

The concert is starting in about an hour, so there is still some time left to discuss things they haven’t been able to for years.

“I can’t believe you’re an officer in the Austrian army,” Sébastien says towards his brother, who wears a decoration on his chest, proof of his efficiency and of his rank. “You finally got the grades and épaulettes you wanted.”

“And you finally got the family you wanted,” Donatien replies, taking Marie-Louise’s hand - yet again - and kissing it. “It’s an honor to finally meet my sister-in-law and my nephews,” he says, as Jean-Louis, Jean-Paul and Jean-Pierre stand to the side, their backs straight, unsure what to think of this man who obviously looks like their father and grandfather, but is neither.

“And I am so glad to finally meet you as well,” Marie-Louise answers, before putting her hands on Jean-Pierre’s shoulders. He’s the shiest of the three children - at 8 years old, he’s still a little bit of a mother’s boy, more prone to come back and hide in her skirts than his two older brothers, Jean-Louis, now 14 and Jean-Paul, now 10. 

“There’s someone here I would like you to meet before we go find our seats,” Donatien then adds, as he begins moving to the side, moving past other people in the Theater who are also shuffling around to find their seats. The concert is slated to last for four hours, so it’s time to find seats, drinks and other sorts of things to pass the time should the compositions of one of Vienna’s most beloved composers turn out to be too boring. 

(Sébastien doubts it, but he thinks that four hours may be a little bit too long for Jean-Pierre’s attention span, although he isn’t sure - they’ve never tried it before).

So, he follows his older brother, barely recognizing him in the Austrian colors, up several flights of stairs - surely they must soon be near the Royal balconies of the theater - and up to a closed door, where two guards are posted on either side. Frowning, Sébastien pulls Jean-Louis close to him in order to make sure that his oldest doesn’t suddenly do something stupid, but Donatien is greeted by a nod by the two officers, and when the knock on the door is answered by a “Come in,” there is no hesitation whatsoever from Donatien’s part.

Sébastien wonders exactly just how high up Donatien has managed to make his way, but it’s when all six of them walk through the doors that are closed behind them that he feels Marie-Louise’s hand on his back, as her other hand goes to her mouth. 

“Marie-Thérèse!” she exclaims, recognizing the former Princess of France, who is looking absolutely radiant and like she was expecting them both. Suddenly realizing the lack of protocol, Marie-Louise and Sébastien immediately do a curtsy for the princess, who waves them off. 

“It is my pleasure to see you all here,” the Princess says, and Sébastien feels his heart skip a beat when he watches her face. “Unless you’ve lost your words entirely,” Marie-Thérèse continues and Sébastien realizes she’s talking to him. He feels some tugging at his pants and sees Jean-Pierre tugging at him, unsure as to why his father is so silent. 

“I’m- I’m speechless, Your Majesty,” he says, it’s the only thing he _can_ say because he truly does not know what to say. “I wasn’t expecting you here,” he continues then, and when Marie-Thérèse and Donatien exchange a knowing look, he knows that this was the plan all along. 

“Well, _we_ weren’t sure you would be able to decipher the letter, but then again, to a man like you, that shouldn’t have been a problem at all, would it?” she smiles, before turning to the other people in the room. Sébastien knows from their posture and their clothing that they are important people, but he is about to find out just _how_ important.

“Monsieur le Livre, may I introduce to you to His Imperial Highness Francois Premier d’Autriche and his daughter, Her Majesty Marie-Louise d’Autriche, as well as His Majesty the Prince Joseph Franz von Lobkowitz,” Marie-Thérèse presents, and Sébastien, as well as Marie-Louise each curtsy at the introductions. 

Sébastien had felt his knees go soft when Marie-Thérèse had introduced the man - the former Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire himself - and then his daughter. Marie-Thérèse points at Sébastien then: “These are Sébastien le Livre, Marie-Louise Chaussée-Tirancourt and their children Jean-Louis, Jean-Paul and Jean-Pierre, is that right?” she asks, and Sébastien can barely make his head nod at that.

“We’ve heard a great deal about you,” Marie-Louise d’Autriche says, as she steps forward. She’s young, Sébastien doesn’t know how young, but she is one of the most beautiful young women he has ever laid his eyes on. He wouldn’t be surprised that some Prince somewhere would fall madly in love with her, for they would be bewitched by her. The young woman walks up to the Le Livre boys and smiles at them.

Marie-Louise makes a little curtsy before speaking, since the Princess herself has spoken to him: “Sébastien and I met at Court in France, he was teaching Her Majesty Madame de France how to write and read, while I worked with Madame de Tourzel to take care of her and her brothers,” she explains, but it seems that the Austrian royalty already knows. It wouldn’t surprise Sébastien that Marie-Thérèse had told them exactly that. 

“Yes, but more than that, Sébastien le Livre here accompanied me from Paris on horse when I had to be exchanged for prisoners of war,” Marie-Thérèse continues, “after his efforts to create false passports for us failed to get myself, my brother and my parents to Varennes.”

Francois the Ist steps forward and extends his hand to Sébastien, who just looks at it, dumbfounded. It’s only when the Emperor himself speaks that Sébastien dares take the hand and shake it. “Your efforts to safeguard the Royal French family have earned you our gratitude. Both you and your brother, for that matter,” and the Emperor nods at Donatien who nods back. Sébastien isn’t sure exactly where the different protocols lie but the Austrian Court seemed to work under the same rules as the former French court.

“We shall talk after the concert, yes?” Marie-Thérèse says as she accompanies the Le Livres to the door. “I have much to tell you, Sébastien. And it is such a pleasure to finally meet your children, I knew they would be some pretty children the moment I heard you had been married to one another,” she continues, taking Marie-Louise’s hand and shaking it. “I am so happy that you are both alive.”

There’s something she’s not saying, but Sébastien knows it by the look on her face: she must know about Honoré and about Maximilien, but he wonders if she knows about Suzanne, Jean-Paul’s dead born twin. There would be so much to do and so much to say in the time they would spend here.

Time was short - they would be able to spend Christmas in Vienna, but then, they would have to return to France and to Paris. As long as the Emperor and his government are busy with talks of Spain and its failure as a campaign, they were somewhat safe. But, Sébastien also knows that their presence can’t be felt on the neighborhood either: if someone notices that they’ve gone for too long, someone might go to the Poste de Police and report them both for suspicious behavior. 

He can trust the baker Paul and the others whom he is on a first name basis with, but the mood in the streets of Paris since the fall of Spain and the rumors of Napoléon’s untimely demise has made things… tense, to say the least. 

So, they all leave the room, accompanied by his own older brother who has a smile on his face that Sébastien would recognize anywhere in the world. It’s the face of an older sibling who knows that they’ve just impressed their younger siblings and that they had the absolute upper hand.

“Was that the Emperor of Austria?” Jean-Louis asks, and Donatien nods at that. 

“He is the leader of Austria, he used to be the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, which also counted Liège, the city where we come from. One day, I shall have to take you there to see our estate, Jean-Louis,” Donatien says and Jean-Louis seems to grow several inches at that. Sébastien knows that his oldest boy is ready to become a man, and Sébastien has been keeping an eye out for all the conscription rules, for it wouldn’t surprise him that he would be snatched up by the Grande Armée soon. 

But Napoléon has enough men for now, and so, Sébastien has no fear for his life just yet. As they all walk down towards their seats in the Theater an der Wien, Sébastien allows himself to relax. He hadn’t realized he was this tense since they had crossed the border out of France. For a second, as silence seems to fall on the crowded room, he thinks about whether or not they should return to Paris at all: wouldn’t it be safer to just stay in Vienna and pretend that they had never been in Paris? Wouldn’t it be safer, especially now that he had his children with him and that his brother was an armed officer, of all things? Perhaps he could become a lawyer here, perhaps he could open his own library, just like his father. Maybe he could even become a writer, although that would mean that he would need to learn the language and possibly readjust to life in a new city in a new country.

But, as he feels Marie-Louise take his hand and squeeze it, he knows that it is nothing but fantasies. He can’t dream himself away from France: that is where they live. And, before he knows it, he will have yet another additional reason to return to France. All he needs to do now, though, is to sit back and enjoy Ludwig von Beethoven premiere some of the best works he has ever produced.

* * *

**Later, the same evening.**

Maybe a whole evening had been a little bit enthusiastic for someone with three children aged 8, 10 and 14. Maybe it had just been because the Theater an der Wien was cold, and all three of them were tired and restless from the trip to Vienna from Paris. Maybe it was because they were more excited about having met the Emperor of Austria himself than having to sit down and listen to Ludwig van Beethoven.

By the second interlude, Donatien had left the little balcony and accompanied his nephews away, leaving Sébastien and Marie-Louise alone to look at and enjoy the music being played in front of them.

“I never thought that I’d be able to listen to him perform,” Marie-Louise whispers, as her head rests on Sébastien’s shoulder. They’re sitting closer than they were at the beginning of the concert. Marie-Louise had complained about her fingers being cold, and Sébastien had taken her hands between his in order to warm them up. When Donatien had left with their kids to go entertain them elsewhere, Sébastien and Marie-Louise had moved together instead of leaving the empty seats of their children between them.

It’s peaceful. Sébastien is enjoying the concert as much as he can - he isn’t sure how often he’ll be able to go to the Opera or to the Theater. It was too expensive in Paris anyways, although he had been looking into getting some tickets for one of Paganini’s shows when he toured Europe some years earlier.

But this time, it had seemed that Donatien had been able to pay off for the tickets - and Sébastien suspected that Marie-Thérèse had had a hand in it as well. 

When Beethoven’s Fifth symphony starts playing - albeit by an orchestra none too tuned, Sébastien can feel the hairs on his arms rise. It’s a musical piece he can’t compare to anything he’s ever heard before, something about the way the composer had put together the violins and other strings to combine into something… something where words suddenly escaped him. 

Marie-Louise’s hand tighten against his hands, and she kisses him on the cheek as the hunting horns play in the background. They both, for a single instant, seem to forget that they’re in a foreign country, trying to get by, and are completely mesmerized by the music being played in front of them. Beethoven’s hands fly left and right as he indicates the orchestra when and how to play, and Sébastien’s eyes flicker around the audience in the Theater. There is no doubt that they are all here to see that Beethoven should stay in Vienna - he’d read up on it and shared some gossip upon arrival at the Theater while waiting for Donatien to figure out where they would sit.

Beethoven had wanted a free sort of patronage - a monthly fee, instead of being paid by the work - and this was his grand finale, in order to show Vienna that Vienna should enjoy his compositions before he left for somewhere else. And, by the crowd that’s gathered here tonight, Sébastien is absolutely sure that he has succeeded in piquing Vienna’s best and richest and their attention.

Sébastien hears the curtain be pulled behind him and it rips him out of his moment of tenderness with Marie-Louise, and they both immediately separate, as Jean-Pierre makes a beeline for Sébastien’s thighs, climbing up on his none too loudly for the neighbors to like it, while Jean-Louis and Jean-Paul sit next to their uncle. Whatever Donatien has shown or bought them, at least they’re quiet. 

Sébastien dares a look over at his oldest sons and notices that they’re both sucking on some candy and that would explain it. They’ve never really had sugar in that amount, and he’d be surprised if they didn’t ask for it when they returned to Paris. Sadly, sugar was in low supplies: the ships from the French colonies in the new continent had been blocked by the English navy, and Napoléon had instructed the Frenchmen to figure out how to make sugar from beets. It wasn’t going too well for now, but Sébastien hopes that they’ll figure it out, for sugar was, after all, something he liked too. 

Marie-Louise squeezes his hand and motions at Jean-Pierre with her chin, when Sébastien moves slightly to the side to see that his youngest son has droopy eyes and looks like he’s about to fall asleep. No, music wasn’t exactly something he did a lot of.

However, time goes by quick enough that the concert ends with an ovation the likes of which Sébastien has never seen before, and before he knows it, they’re back in the presence of the Royal Austrian family. 

Marie-Louise goes to the young princess with whom she shares a name, while the children go with her - Jean-Pierre dares go ask the Emperor himself something, and while Sébastien is almost embarrassed by it, the lack of spectators allows the Emperor some leniency and a smile at the young boy’s request to see the medals on his chest. Sébastien finds himself in Marie-Thérèse’s company.

She wraps her arm around his and looks over at his merry family with eyes filled with envy. “I knew you’d make nice children for her,” she tells him and he almost - almost - feels the need to let her know that Jean-Paul had been born a twin, but the evening had been so good and the joy of finally seeing Marie-Thérèse alive again wasn’t something he wanted to break up. So, instead, he directs the conversation to something else: England, and Hartwell, where he knows she lives. 

“I hear you’ve relocated to England, my lady,” he says, and she taps him on the shoulder.

“I sat on your knees while you taught me to write, you do not have to call me my lady. At least not while we are in such a small committee, anyways,” she smiles. “And you rode a horse all the way to Bâle for me. If anything, I should call you Sir for the effort that took you. How is the horse?” she asks innocently, and she must see the shadow that passes on Sébastien’s face.

“Things haven’t exactly been… easy,” he tries, and she nods.

“Donatien told me that you were in trouble with Napoléon Bonaparte, the buffoon,” she says and Sébastien’s eyes grow wide. “Oh, don’t fret, he won’t hear us here. I hear he’s in Spain, fighting an insurrection - let him die there! It’ll make all of us happier to know that he wasn’t coming back, at least your little government will put someone in charge that doesn’t think the world belongs to them. Have you met Bonaparte? I seem to remember Donatien saying you had.”

Sébastien nods. “Yes, Roederer and Barras introduced me to him,” he makes a face then, and she urges him to go on with a cock of her chin, “Roederer told him I had forged your papers for the escape to Varennes.”

Marie-Thérèse’s eyes immediately darken as she realizes what Sébastien isn’t saying out loud. She puts it into words, “So Napoléon knows you’re a forger?”

He nods.

“And how does he like forgers?”

“He doesn’t.”

She makes a face that is absolutely not worthy of a Royal face at that, then makes a “Bah!” noise as she waves her hand. “I’m sure he’s got more pressing issues to take care of than one single forger that hasn’t done anything since,” she says and when Sébastien forces a smile she looks almost shocked, but he realizes she’s faking it. “Ah, see, I knew you would do it again. Tell, what was it? No, as a matter of fact, I’d rather not know. But was it worth it?”

Sébastien shrugs. “It helped put Bonaparte on the throne, so I don’t know,” he replies rather sadly, and she shakes her head.

“Come, come, don’t you have something else to talk about?” she asks with the sound of someone who wants to talk about something else, so Sébastien obliges.

“I hear you’re living in England now. How is that treating you?” 

Marie-Thérèse smiles at that. “Well, my uncle, who wants the throne of France, wants me to help gather enough support from the Austrian imperial family,” she motions to the Emperor with her head, “and I have been known to mingle with the English royal family. Do you know anything of it?” she asks, and when Sébastien shakes his head, she sighs, as she’s the one educating a child this time, “The King isn’t entirely sane anymore, so it’s Her Majesty the Queen Charlotte who is ruling the Kingdom,” she explains, as she looks over at the two Marie-Louises laughing at something Jean-Louis has told them.

“She holds some nice balls every season, with the presence of the Royal nobility, and it’s quite interesting, although nothing serious ever comes of it. You should come and attend at some point, Le Livre, it’d do you and Marie-Louise some good to get out of Paris and see something fun for once.”

She’s almost out of breath before she pauses, while Donatien walks over to them, almost sensing that Sébastien is feeling a little bit out of his depths.

“Are you still talking of those dresses and balls?” He rolls his eyes at Sébastien when Sébastien looks as amused as he does when Marie-Thérèse nods.

“It’s Tons, actually. And last year a lovely young man took over one of the more favored houses, I’m sure the little Princess Marie-Louise over there,” Marie-Thérèse points to the princess discussing something with Jean-Pierre and Marie-Louise, “would have enjoyed him.”

“I don’t want you going on about the older Bridgerton boy, Marie-Thérèse. You know that Marie-Louise has other plans, she won’t marry into British nobility,” Donatien intervenes, catching the attention of the Emperor, who is walking this way.

“Tell me, do you know whether or not it’s true that Bonaparte and his Empress-” François says the last word with disgust in his mouth “- have had any success in getting a child?” 

Sébastien is a little taken aback by the question. Marie-Louise comes to his rescue before he loses his integrity in the face of a man who represents a whole country. “No, Your Majesty. They haven’t, it’s been many years since Joséphine had her children, and, well…” 

She pauses.

“There are rumors that they may be discussing a divorce of some kind. I know Talleyrand and Murat are discussing trying to convince Napoléon to let Joséphine go, but he says he’s in love, so he won’t leave her. But,” she curtsies, as if that makes her claim all the more relevant, “I hear that he has a bastard son by one of Joséphine’s ladies in waiting.”

The Emperor, François of Austria, seems a bit puzzled by the last information. He looks over his shoulder at Marie-Louise d’Autriche, then back at Sébastien, as if he’s debating something. He finally settles his eyes on Sébastien’s wife. “Would you take care of her?” he asks, and Marie-Louise seems unsure what he’s asking.

“I’m sorry-”

Marie-Thérèse interrupts, “If Bonaparte divorces Joséphine, he will be looking for a marriage to secure peace with either Russia, Austria or Prussia. You’re looking at the Austrian candidate,” she explains, and Sébastien’s eyes drift towards the young princess, barely 17 years of age, who seems barely older than Jean-Louis. He frowns.

“She’s too young, surely-”

“There’s no such thing as too young to save a marriage. And, we know that it is not the issue with the women,” the Emperor says, making sure to look away from both Marie-Thérèse’s and Marie-Louise’s faces, “for he will be able to produce heirs until he’s older.”

Something tastes wrong in Sébastien’s mouth. His eyes go back and forth between Donatien and the Emperor and Marie-Thérèse, as if they had been plotting against his presence here to present just that: would he look after the Austrian princess if she were to wed Napoléon Bonaparte? He shakes his head.

“Bonaparte knows that I’m a for- that I’m not to be trusted,” he catches the word forger in his mouth before it makes out. “He will never trust her if I somehow end up acquainted with her.”

Donatien is the one who chimes in now. “Well, how about your wife? Marie-Thérèse, you say she was a lady-in-waiting in the Royal court of France, surely she would fit into the Imperial family of France, no?”

Sébastien feels the conversation shift when all eyes focus on Marie-Louise. She hasn’t worked in almost 20 years, since before the French Révolution, and she’s got children of her own to take care of. Sébastien puts his hand on her lower back in order to show that he’s supportive of her no matter what she decides to say.

However, right as she’s about to respond to the Emperor, the princess laughs loudly at something Jean-Louis must have told her, and they all turn their eyes towards her. The sudden attention makes her blush and she quietens again, going back to hushed whispers with the oldest of the Le Livre children. Sébastien feels Marie-Louise tense beside him.

“Yes,” she says, lifting a finger. Sébastien almost smiles, of course she’d be the one to lift a finger in the presence of an Emperor and one of the remaining members of the French royal family. “But I will not do anything that puts her in danger. I will not plot for you, or for Austria. I will do it solely for the sake of Marie-Louise, and for her sake only. I’ve birthed four children of my own, and if my role is to be by her side to prepare for hers, then yes. I will do it.”

Sébastien catches Marie-Thérèse’s eyes as they go to his children. Marie-Louise had said four children, but yet there were only three here? With an almost invisible nod of his head, Sébastien dismisses the question he’s sure is on her lips. This is a conversation for another time, and not one he wants to have here.

Finally, the young princess, Marie-Louise d’Autriche, gets up, seemingly bored of the conversation she was having with Jean-Louis, and moves towards them. “Now, weren’t we going to go greet the composer? You said that he would be waiting.”

Sébastien admires the way she’s managed to take control of the situation and the conversation with barely acknowledging it: he doesn’t know if she’s been eavesdropping on what they were talking about or not, but either way, she knew that the conversation was supposed to end right here and now.

* * *

**March 8th, 1810**

It’s been coming on for a long time. But, somehow, the divorce between Joséphine de Beauharnais and Napoléon Bonaparte comes as a surprise to many.

After all, he had always claimed that he would love her no matter what, but the need for an heir seems to be more important than his love for Joséphine. It’s been confirmed that he isn’t the one unable to have children: Éléonore Denuelle de la Plaigne, one of Joséphine’s handmaidens has borne a son of an unknown father - not that unknown, according to Joseph Fouché from the Minister of Police. 

Additionally, Marie Walewska is also expecting a child, and rumors have it that it’s Bonaparte’s as well.

The continuous threats towards Bonaparte’s life make it difficult for him to think of anything else than an heir. And, thus, the need for the divorce. The divorce had been announced a month earlier, where Napoléon had told Joséphine that he wanted a son, born within marriage and heir to the titles associated with the Empire.

And, when the divorce had been finalized, Napoléon had been fast in establishing connections to his two main enemies: Austria and Russia. He wouldn’t marry a French woman, he needed to create a bond of blood.

Sébastien knows that Paris and the French people are still unsure about another Austrian woman on the throne of France, considering how they cut off the head of the previous Austrian queen. And, now that he knows the upcoming wedding will be between Napoléon Bonaparte, and Marie-Louise Léopoldine Francois Thérèse Josèphe Lucie de Habsbourg-Lorraine, only 17 years old, Sébastien can’t help but feel… torn.

The alternative to the young Marie-Louise d’Autriche had been the Grande Duchesse de Russie Anna Pavlovna de Russie, who was only 14 years old. The thought that Napoléon, only a year older than Sébastien, considers marrying a 14 year old child makes Sébastien’s stomach turn. Knowing that his oldest son is 16 and has begun looking at the young girls walking around in the streets of Paris makes it even more uneasy. However, it is what they’re going to get - and Sébastien and Marie-Louise won’t be able to have any say in how this is going to proceed anyways.

However, when a messenger comes knocking on their door on the morning of the 8th March 1810, it’s a surprising one. Mostly because he asks for Marie-Louise Chaussée-Tirancourt, and not Sébastien le Livre, which is a nice surprise.

“I have a message from the Court of Austria,” the man dressed in a foreign uniform says, when Sébastien and Marie-Louise greet him on the street. “We hope that you will accept the invitation to join the Princess Marie-Louise d’Autriche at Court when she weds the Emperor of France. She has heard good things from you, and would like you to be by her side as she becomes Empress,” the messenger says, as Marie-Louise opens the letter. 

Sébastien, peeking over her shoulder, notices that the lettering is fine and delicate, the definite sign of a youthful hand who still hasn’t gotten tired of taking care of their writings and of doing so in a rush. It’s written in German and although he isn’t that familiar with it, he recognizes enough of it. Putting his hand on Marie-Louise’s shoulder as she reads a letter penned by her Royal namesake, he looks at the messenger, waiting for Marie-Louise to finish reading. She had been more proficient in German than him, having worked at Court longer than him, being near Marie-Antoinette herself longer than Sébastien had ever dared expect. 

She tenses when she seems to reach the bottom of the letter, but looks up at the messenger, and Sébastien sees something in her eyes. She purses her lips in a tight line before speaking.

“I will accompany Her Royal Highness Marie-Louise to Court.”

There are no further questions for the messenger, other than her acceptance. He makes a small gesture which Sébastien interprets as curtsy, and turns around. He doesn’t look back as he leaves the streets of Paris, which is beginning to crowd in the morning. Some of the neighbors have looked through the windows, and Sébastien feels the burning sensation on the back of his neck from those around him.

* * *

**July 4th, 1810**

“Open up, Monsieur le Livre. We have some questions for you that we would like you to answer.”

It doesn’t exactly come as a surprise to Sébastien, he’s seen the writing on the wall long before it had become clear to him. Those last two years since he had gone to Austria to meet his brother and the Imperial Austrian family have been both some of the longest years in his life, but also some of the shortest.

Napoléon had come back from Spain alive and well in January 1809, immediately causing Talleyrand’s disgrace, because the politician had been involved in a plot against the Emperor. Talleyrand had gone immediately to Klemens von Metternich, the Austrian ambassador to France and offered his services to Austria, currently France’s ally. 

In April of the same year, Austria and the United Kingdom had declared war against France, an opportunity Napoléon had seen and taken: he’d immediately ridden for Austria, taking Vienna by May 13th 1809, storming the streets and sending the Austrian Imperial family on the run. Four days later, the Schönbrunn treaty solidified the war with the annexation of the Papal States by the French Empire. 

The Pope, Pius VII, didn’t take kindly to this, and excommunicated Bonaparte on June 10th. Roughly a month later, Bonaparte took Pius VII prisoner and brought him to Savona, under surveillance. The truth of the matter had been that after capturing the Castel Sant-Angelo, Bonaparte had not exactly wanted to capture the pope - although he had placed cannons towards the papal bedroom. It had been Bonaparte’s lieutenant, the Lieutenant Radet, who had taken it upon himself to kidnap the Pope. And, once the Pope had been under the influence of France, then there was no release in sight: 

That whole year, the war with Austria caused more issues than needed for Paris and France, who was growing tired. The coalition between Austria and the United Kingdom was the fifth of its name in just under a decade, and it seemed like the peace that kept being made and broken between France and its enemies was making the troops tired. Every year, new conscripted men became cannon fodder in Bonaparte’s undying wishes to expand the French Empire, and every year, Sébastien dreaded the call for arms, for his oldest son, Jean-Louis, grew closer and closer to the minimum age allowed to the conscripted men.

In December 1809, Bonaparte and Joséphine had thus divorced. It had been against Bonaparte’s better intentions, but a war had been brokered between Austria and France, and a new wedding with the young Archduchess Marie-Louise would - Bonaparte hoped - help cement amical relations between France and Austria. 

At the beginning of 1810, presses and libraries were put under even more penalty, censorship soaring to new heights. Sébastien only knew more of theses things from his hearing and from what Marie-Louise heard as gossip on the streets - most of it he wouldn’t find out until many, many years after the fact - but it doesn’t change the fact that by July 1810, after the celebrated wedding of Napoléon Ier and the Princesse Marie-Louise d’Autriche, there was a new future in sight. 

One where, if things went well, Sébastien and his family would be allowed to travel to and from Austria freely to visit his brother, who had decided to stay there, his fealty still pledged to the Austrian Emperor, former Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, which the Principality of Liège had been under.

The only thing was that Sébastien’s familial trip to Vienna in December 1808 has been noticed. He doesn’t know which neighbor it is that has given notes or information to the police, but he knows that there’s a list with his name on it. He’s a suspect - he doesn’t know in which case, or if it’s just a general suspicion for treason, and he knows that some people on the street don’t dare speak to him for fear of being associated with a traitor. Jean-Louis, Jean-Paul and Jean-Pierre have lost friends over this fact, and they have expressed their sadness about it several times: Jean-Louis had just gotten to know the shoemaker’s daughter and had liked her face and smile, but she had been forbidden to speak to him.

On account of his father being a traitor. Or that’s what Jean-Louis had told Sébastien at least. There’s no way of knowing how things are truly going and moving. He remembers the fear during the Terreur and how they had avoided any public scrutiny by staying in door and hoping for the best: there is no more of that now, not with three songs who are growing up and making a splash of themselves.

Jean-Paul has shown quite the skill for woodwork, having shown up at one of the carpenter’s workshops one day with something he’s made out of scraps and one of the knives Sébastien has gifted him over time. If a little bit of coin came home through the sale of his toys and other fancier creations, Sébastien doesn’t speak too loudly of it. It’s nice to know that at least one of his sons has his hands well oiled in handiwork. Jean-Louis, the oldest, is still struggling to figure out what he wants to spend his life doing, and Sébastien can only blame himself.

Being torn at losing half of his family to Bonaparte’s greed has made Sébastien overlook some of the parenting he should have been doing with his oldest son - and his heir, if he were to die - and he sometimes look at his young boy of 16 years of age and wonders how it wasn’t so long ago that he was 16 too - back in 1786, before the Révolution and the end of the French monarchy.

The thing is, even though Marie-Louise of Austria has married Napoléon Ier, the Emperor of the French, Paris has not forgotten their previous Austrian Queen. Sébastiens hears the people around him whisper of this “deuxième autrichienne” with disdain. 

And, when a fire had broken out at the Austrian Embassy in Paris on the night of the 1st of July during a ball, given by Metternich to celebrate the wedding with Austria, well… let’s say it had surprised absolutely nobody. 

Which is why Sébastien finds himself surprised with a visit from the Police, the same officer who brought him away for questioning all those years ago already - if anything, he hadn’t thought that he would be on the list of people brought in for questioning when it came to setting the Austrian Embassy on fire.

“Why?”

It’s the only question he can muster currently - the officer seems to be resolved in bringing him in regardless, and by the looks of it, he seems to think that anything to do with Austrians in this city is caused exactly by Sébastien le Livre and his family of traitors. Sébastien has gotten used to it.

Ever since Marie-Louise had started working for her namesake, the looks on the street had changed - even Paul the baker’s smiles had seemed to become more and more forced. Maybe it was the idea that they were working _with_ the Austrians that bothered them. Working with the enemy. For Austria had been an enemy during almost the entire duration of the French Empire thus far, and only too many men had lost sons or brothers fighting in the Grande Armée. Especially the year before when the Austrian forces had won against the Grande Armée at Essling.

“You’re a suspect in the setting of the fire at the Austrian Embassy,” the officer replies and Sébastien feels tired. He’s 40 years old now, he’s starting to feel old - there are aches in his body that weren’t there when he was a young man and he can’t seem to get his back to stop hurting. And, there’s still that little spot behind his head where he fell from the stool during the flooding of the Seine that hurts. It’s been almost 7 years, and he still gets migraines from the injury. He sighs.

“Why? I thought you considered me a suspect in plotting with the Austrians, not against them,” he mutters through grit teeth, as he looks behind his shoulder. Jean-Louis is standing in front of his little brothers, with a face that says that he’s ready to fight. If anything, Jean-Louis had shown pride in his own family name twice - he had hit the weaver’s son square in the jaw in a brawl over who was the most French person in the discussion, and ended up with a black eye of his own.

Sébastien had always dismissed it as Jean-Louis trying to impress the shoemaker’s girl, but for some reason, something falls into place today, when faced with the police officer again. Marie-Louise is at the Tuileries currently - she is more away than not these days, and Sébastien wishes that he too had something to do of his days rather than sit and watch the people around him in the city whispering about him behind his back - and sometimes in his face.

“Our mother works for the Austrian Empress,” Jean-Louis says then, just as Sébastien is about to walk out the door to accompany the police officer. Jean-Paul moves past his older brother and up to Sébastien, who, in spite of trying to keep them quiet by putting his hand out, isn’t quick enough to catch his middle child walking up to the police officer.

“You can ask the Empress what she would think of this,” the young boy says with his hands on his hips and Sébastien is almost grateful that his boys are standing up to the authority on his behalf. Even Jean-Pierre, now holding Jean-Louis’ hand, walks up to flank Sébastien in the entrance of the house. “Our father is not going with you, he wasn’t at the Embassy the night of the ball,” Jean-Paul adds, with a stern look on his face.

“If you won’t come with me on your own,” the police officer then says, “I’ll have to bring you and the boys in.”

Sébastien is about the say something back when Jean-Pierre, young, little, innocent Jean-Pierre, lets go of Jean-Louis’ hand and walks up to the officer to push him away. “No!”

“Alright, if that’s how it’s going to be-” the officer begins, before Sébastien moves forward and reaches for his son’s shoulders, turning him around. 

“One moment, officer,” he says, kneeling in front of his 10 year old and looking him in the eye. At the same level.

“Listen, Jean-Pierre, you can’t push the police around when they come to ask for your father, alright? I’m sure that this is a misunderstanding,” he looks up at the police officer at this, “and I’m sure I will be back here with you three soon.” 

Jean-Pierre looks like he’s about to cry, so Sébastien puts his hands on the back of his neck and brings him close to him, hugging him as hard as he can. He needs his boys to be strong, especially now that neither him nor their mother is home. He feels Jean-Pierre’s hands on his shoulders and arms, and stays there for a bit, until the police officer clears his throat.

“You have to be good, d’accord?” he asks Jean-Pierre, who nods, and Sébastien then turns around to look at Jean-Louis, gently pushing Jean-Pierre his way. “You take care of your brothers, I’ll figure out what this is about and come back.”

Jean-Louis nods. “Be careful,” is the only two words his oldest give him, before sending an icy glare towards the police officer. Sébastien gets up, dusts his knee from where it was on the ground, and adjusts the clothes on his back. 

“I’m ready to follow you, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Goya's Third of May 1808](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Third_of_May_1808) is a painting you've probably seen in artbooks or elsewhere - it's absolutely iconic. I had no idea, prior to writing this chapter, that it was painted during the events of the Napoléonic conquest of Spain. The more you know!
> 
> I've had this idea of putting Sébastien in Vienna for the December 22nd 1808 concert Beethoven gave at the premiere of his 5th Symphony for a long time - I also had no idea, prior to writing this, where to place Beethoven on the historical time-line. Like, I knew Bach was earlier, and that Mozart was somewhere around the change from the 1700s to the 1800s, but I didn't know enough about Beethoven until I saw a documentary about him and went "he needs to be in this fic!" which I promptly made happen.
> 
> And, for those of you with the eyes of a hawk (ha!), that _was_ a Bridgerton-reference in one of the middle scenes of this chapter. I had promised @solrosan that I'd do it, and now I did, so consider this a little Easter Egg for your eyes only. Did you catch it when you were reading? 
> 
> Now: what scene did you like best? I LOVED writing the scene in Austria with the music and the concert, but I especially loved writing the last scene and leaving you guys hanging off the edge of that cliffhanger. You'll have to wait for a week more! Let me know in the comments what you liked (or disliked!)
> 
> As always, find me [on tumblr](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/) ♥ ( _I don't bite!_ ) and also on the Booker Enthusiasts Discord channel.
> 
> (ps: _you can also subscribe to this fic at the top of the page so you get an email notification when it updates!_ ☼)


	10. Napoléon François Joseph Charles Bonaparte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are tightening for Sébastien le Livre - his little escapade to Vienna with his family has been noticed, and not in a good way. Especially not when the Emperor himself decides to meddle with the fate of the forger.  
> So, when things finally turn sour for France in 1812, when the Emperor Napoléon overreacts to Russia's unwilligness to follow the European blockade against the United-Kingdom, well.  
> Fate decides to knock on Sébastien le Livre's door. And it asks for not one, but two lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has the usual "canon compliant" warnings in place, but part of the chapter also describes a difficult labour with all that encompasses. Be safe out there, everyone!
> 
> PS: I can't believe I forgot to share that I made a [Booker AMV](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPdMIna9OfE&t=1s&ab_channel=spectralarchers) to the song "SCAVA" by Hollywood Undead, which is where I got the title for this fic!

**July 6th, 1810**

Sébastien has been sitting in this little room for two whole days, and he isn’t sure what’s going on - nor why he hasn’t been released yet. He knows that they have nothing to hold him on - he has told them repeatedly that he was nowhere near the Austrian Embassy on the night of the fire and that he has no interests that would threaten the integrity or safety of the French territory. 

It’s the first time that he’s felt in danger in years.

He’s bitten his nails down to the very edges, a habit he used to have as a child when he was worried about things he couldn’t understand yet, and for a bit, he thinks of his father. He still hasn’t read the letter that had been given to him three days after the ship carrying Maximilien had left for the Seychelles. He knows exactly where it lies - in the bottom of a drawer that he barely ever empties.

He wonders what might be written on it, as he sits with his head back against the cold and humid wall of the cell he’s pretty sure that he’s been put in. They hadn’t told him much, and the only thing that he knows is that during the previous day, there had been a loud argument in the room next door - but he hadn’t been able to make out anything of importance, the voices had been too muffled to make out.

So, he sits and waits. 

There have to be different reasons for keeping him here. But he has absolutely no idea why today specifically, though.

So, when he hears footsteps coming his way, he barely perks to attention, thinking it’s just yet someone else coming to watch him mope at his own fate. However, there are more footsteps than usual when he does pay attention, and as he looks up from his hands, he realizes that this is going to be a moment he will never, ever forget.

Napoléon Bonaparte, first of his name, is standing on the other side of jail cell and looking at him like he’d be looking at a bug, needing to be exterminated. Sébastien doesn’t know what to say: the man he once met in a meeting, plotting for coups d’état and overtaking power, in the company of wiser men than him, looks different. He looks both extremely older, but also slightly chubbier - the years have not been kind to Napoléon, but he still has those very dark and intense eyes that Sébastien remembers from their first meeting.

“Le Livre! I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” Bonaparte - no, the  _ Emperor _ \- says, and Sébastien watches with wary eyes. There’s a trap waiting for him if he says anything - the last conversation he had with the Emperor has haunted him ever since, and he knows that if the Emperor himself has descended into this little cell to speak with him, it means that something has happened.

There’s a pause, as if Bonaparte was waiting for Sébastien to say something back, but the silence that meets the Emperor throws him off. Sébastien watches carefully as the people around the Emperor look at each other, clearly expecting something bigger than what is currently taking place. At the lack of response from Sébastien, Bonaparte does a small wave with his hand, and Sébastien watches the guards and police officers leave. Which puts him face to face with one of the most powerful men of Europe - of the  _ world _ . And he isn’t quite sure if that means that he is in imminent danger of death or if he needs to be worried about someone else.

“I see you don’t have as many words as the last time we spoke together, Le Livre,” Bonaparte starts. “Then maybe you will give me the opportunity to explain why I had you locked up here.” 

Sébastien feels something burn in his chest - so it was deliberate. But he doesn’t say anything, and hopes that his composure doesn’t betray the sudden outburst of anger he is feeling. Seemingly, Bonaparte doesn’t pick up on it, and launches into a monologue that Sébastien pays extremely close attention to from his side of the bars:

“You see, the first time we met, some of the councillors of the Directoire were quick to flaunt your abilities to me. I haven’t forgotten what Roederer said about your little, peculiar gift,” Bonaparte makes a make-shift mimic of writing with his hand, “and I do wonder if your little talent hasn’t been used against the established power since. I hear that Fouché has just finished an investigation on you after we sent your father away to the Seychelles with those damned Jacobins. What a waste! Even I remember the way everyone talked of your father and his skills as a lawyer and a strategic piece on the chessboard. It was such a shame that we had to send him away, hoping that it’d keep you in place. But it didn’t, did it? Your father went away, his head held high, and when I wasn’t in the country anymore, when everyone, and I mean everyone, thought that I would die fighting in Spain, you decided to have a little family trip to Vienna.” Bonaparte pauses at that, and Sébastien counts the seconds between each of his breaths in an effort to control them. “The only question I have today for you, is what the purpose of that trip was? We’re just us, just us former young men with talent for politics and power.”

Bonaparte looks over at Sébastien who has made sure not to move at all during the little tirade.

“Why did you go to Vienna?”

There’s something behind Napoléon’s voice that makes Sébastien think that the question is more urgent than the Emperor seems to want to let on. 

“To visit my brother, Donatien, and discuss the terms of our inheritance after our father’s debt,” he replies, very clearly, with no possibility of misunderstanding. “I have paperwork proving that we settled the split of the inheritance between the two of us, according to the rules and laws put in place. I even paid my due taxes to the French state when it was due.” Sébastien is very quiet and tries to seem like none of this is affecting him: it is, though. 

Bonaparte takes a deep breath.

“You went to the Opera, yes?” Sébastien nods. “To see…?”

“Beethoven, Your Majesty.”

Sébastien makes use of the honorary title very specifically here to see how Napoléon responds to it. The lines on his face seem to straighten as he smiles, and Sébastien knows that Napoléon liked it. 

“Was it a nice concert?” 

The question doesn’t make sense - Sébastien isn’t sure why that is relevant. So he nods. 

“Yes, it was exquisite, but the Opera was cold during the entire performance. We went home with cold feet and runny noses, all of us,” is the only reply he can give the Emperor, who doesn’t look satisfied.

“It has come to my attention that your wife, Marie-Louise, has entered the household of my own Marie-Louise. Funny that, our wifes are both called Marie-Louise. It would seem though, that it wasn’t the first they met, when they were introduced - as a matter of fact, I know that the Empress summoned your wife specifically. Would you mind clearing that up for me, Le Livre, for it doesn’t make any sense. Where would your wife - and yourself - have met the Archduchess of Austria, if not in Vienna, during your visit two years ago?”

Everything falls into place for Sébastien. 

Napoléon Bonaparte thinks that Sébastien and his wife went to Vienna to conspire against him with the Austrian imperial family, and now that he has married into said family instead of the Russian one, he wants to make sure that he didn’t walk into a trap. Sébastien should really be flattered that the Emperor thinks him capable of such plotting. 

Sébastien grimaces at the accusation in the Emperor’s question. “Every single important person of the Court of Vienna attended that concert. My brother had secured tickets for myself and my family, and I wasn’t aware that the Austrian Imperial family would attend.” And, in a way, it’s the truth: Sébastien wasn’t expecting to meet the Austrian Emperor while attending a concert he had hoped to see with his brother.

It had been a Christmas concert, and for once, he had thought that he’d be able to enjoy it without being involved in politics against his will.

“But you don’t deny that you met the Archduchess Marie-Louise upon your visit,” Napoléon says then.

“The former princess of France, Marie-Thérèse attended, and as you know, I was familiar with the former princess. She summoned me to meet her and ask how I was doing, as well as meet my three children, and since she is a royal, she had stayed in the same balcony as the Austrian imperial family. We met briefly, but I never spoke to the young Archduchess. Étiquette clearly states that-”

“I do not care for the étiquette, Le Livre. Don’t speak, unless spoken to, I am only too well aware of it. But, you guarantee that it was pure coincidence, then, attending that concert?”

Sébastien nods.

“I can guarantee it, on my own life and that of my children.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bonaparte says then, and it sends a chill down Sébastien’s spine.

And, without another word, the Emperor turns around and leaves Sébastien in his cold cell, wondering if somehow, he just signed his own death certificate. Was there something he hadn’t noticed in the conversation? Some sort of threat, underlying line of questioning that had escaped him? Or was he just so thick that he hadn’t realized that the Emperor was looking for a way to trap him? Get rid of him? 

The police officer - Ludovic, he’s learned - who had brought him in, comes and opens the cell. When he tells Sébastien that he’s free to go, Sébastien feels like stepping out of the cell is putting him in grave danger, rather than freeing him.

Something has shifted around him.

* * *

**March 19th, 1811**

Sébastien has rarely seen his wife so mad. He’s seen her yell at the Grocer for selling old grain, and he’s seen her yell at a driver who wasn’t being careful. He’s seen her yell at their children when they were misbehaving, and he’s been on the wrong side of her wrath one time too many for him. But the wrath that has descended upon all those involved in Sébastien imprisonment has had nothing to do with what he thought Marie-Louise would be capable of.

When Sébastien had come home after his little chat with the Emperor, Marie-Louise had been on the verge of losing her mind: the children had told her days prior that the police had taken Sébastien away, and she had immediately gone to her employer, the Emperor’s wife herself.

Not knowing that it was on the orders of the Emperor that Sébastien had been thrown into a miserable cell had meant that figuring out how to get Sébastien home and out safely had become tangled in a whole mess they weren’t exactly ready to mingle with. 

She had marched to the police station and given Ludovic, the officer, something of her mind to chew on, and told him that he should be ashamed of his actions. When Sébastien had managed to get her to understand that the Emperor had threatened him because of something the Emperor thought they were doing, he’d been afraid to let her go to work the next days: she usually left for some days at a time, leaving Sébastien to care for the children who were now looking at him like he was going to disappear one day all of a sudden.

Marie-Louise had gone to the Empress herself, and told her everything - Marie-Louise d’Autriche, the Archduchess herself had said she would have a word with her husband, but the fact of the matter was that the race had already been won by Napoléon: no matter what Sébastien and his own did to prove their innocence would be seen as proof of their guilt. And, involving Marie-Louise was the last thing that Sébastien would have wanted, but his wife would not hear it. She had decided someone was going to pay, and she was going to find the culprit.

The fact of the matter is that by October 1810, Napoléon signed a new treaty in Fontainebleau that would reinforce the punishment for contraband and forging, and if he felt specifically threatened by this new treaty, he was probably right. The wrath of the Emperor had been a long time coming, and seeing how Napoléon had become paranoïd at everyone around him didn’t surprise Sébastien.

It’s lonely to stand at the top of Europe, especially when being at the top means being the one leading the continental blockade against the United Kingdom. The French navy had been destroyed - or almost - entirely by the British navy, almost solely funded by the Rothschild family who had decided to go all in on the war against the French Empire by funding the British forces. Sébastien admires the passion coming from the other side, but the blockade isn’t really working: the British can still trade with Portugal, and there are other ways to get to the continent that Napoléon can’t block forever.

And, his blockade also depends on the other members of the continent actually agreeing and upholding their promises to the French Emperor. Something that not everyone, everywhere, seems too keen to do. Especially now that Napoléon Bonaparte himself has managed to piss off the Russian Tsar by decreeing that the Duchy of Oldenburg would go to France. The Duchy of Oldenburg whose current head of state happened to be married to Tsar Alexander I’s’ sister, Catherine Pavlovna of Russia. 

Something which had not sat well with the Russians at all. And, if there was any truth to the rumors which were beginning to grow in Paris, the peace brokered with the Russians over Austria and Prussia was slowly crumbling. Napoléon wasn’t well-liked by any of the other courts of Europe, and even Austria hadn’t been calmed by his wedding to the Archduchess Marie-Louise.

Not even the fact that she is hopefully going to produce an heir for him. For the Archduchess is with child - Sébastien has learned that through Marie-Louise, who had told him of the happy news a month or so after he had been released from his cold prison cell. 

And, this child, hoped to bring peace between France and Austria will arrive today, surely. Marie-Louise hasn’t been home from the Tuileries in days - Marie-Louise d’Autriche is big and is past her nine months of pregnancy, and Sébastien knows that Marie-Louise, from the top of her 45 years will be the best possible midwife for the Empress. 

Something that neither of them have planned is for Marie-Louise to return to the Le Livre home with hands she has scrubbed clean of blood and white as a sheet to the sound of canons in the distance. When the door opens to reveal his wife, Sébastien jumps up from the chair he’s been sitting on, reading one of the only four remaining gazettes that Napoléon allows to be printed in the city.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and Marie-Louise looks at him like she’s seen a ghost. “Is Marie-Louise alright?” 

She doesn’t reply, but goes directly to the bowl holding some cold water to wash her hands. Following her, Sébastien hands her the soap absentmindedly as he watches her go over the motions to clean her hands - there’s blood that she hasn’t had the time to scrub off which has dried, and her silence is making him worried. They’ve felt it on their own body and soul what it means to lose a child, and this time, he is afraid for someone else. 

“What has happened?” he tries again, and only when Marie-Louise wipes her hands on her skirt does she look at him.

“The Empress has been in labor for over 12 hours, they didn’t know what to do.”

She pauses, although Sébastien knows that the sound of canons can mean only one thing - a child, an heir. But Marie-Louise’s face is telling him an entirely different story. “Imperial étiquette meant that there couldn’t be a midwife in the room, so the Emperor sent us all away. Dubois was the one who took care of it, and he refused the help of Corvisart, Napoléon’s own personal doctor! Can you believe it? I don’t care whether or not protocol dictates that no women should be in the room, I birthed four children myself, I would know how to- how to have avoided what happened!”

She is looking even more distressed now, and Sébastien’s worry increasingly grows. The canonfire means that a child has been produced, but the explosions don’t tell anyone the state of the Empress. He dares not interrupt her, she looks like she’s still in the room, and all of a sudden, Sébastien wonders whose blood it is on her hands, and whether it’s the blood of someone no longer in this world. Instinctively, he reaches for them and tries to kiss them, but she pulls away and begins to talk again.

“The Empress’ water sac broke, I heard the doctors say it when they asked for more rags. Dubois came out of the Imperial bedroom shortly thereafter and went straight for the Emperor himself,” her eyes are glassy and she’s avoiding looking Sébastien in the eyes as she speaks, “everyone was there - Caulaincourt, the Emperor’s mom, his brothers and sisters, and the doctor told them all to stay quiet as he went to the Emperor. He asked which one to save,” she squeaks, and Sébastien’s throat tightens. He knows what’s coming next - he knows why Marie-Louise is in such a state.

He thinks back to the face of the young woman he met in Vienna and of how scared she had seemed at the idea of her future being decided for her. To think that she hadn’t survived makes his heart ache, and he goes in for a hug, which Marie-Louise pushes back.

“Don’t lose your cool, the Emperor said. Save the mother, think only of the mother, nature has no law, Monsieur, save her, just like you would do if you were trying to save a little bourgeoise girl in the rue Saint-Denis. That’s what he said. He said that the child shouldn’t be saved in favor of Marie-Louise, and that’s- he did it to save his alliance with Austria, I’m sure,” she hiccups in between two words, that she can’t seem to get out. 

Sébastien is confused - why the canons then? They wouldn’t be shooting the canons if no child had come out of it, and he looks at her again, trying to get her to focus. Framing her face with his hands, he looks at her, and kisses her cheek gently, and she finally focuses on him. He realizes her eyes are filled with tears, and he almost can’t bear it. What she must have seen in there... what Napoléon must have done… 

“Dubois used the forceps on the child, it was coming out the wrong way,” she dares a look over at the table where their three sons are sitting down, practicing their letters and their words, then back at Sébastien. “She howled and yelled, it hurt so much to listen to, I can barely imagine her pain,” she then whispers, leaning into Sébastien’s chest, who closes his arms around her and embraces her. 

“It’s okay, it’s alright, you are here now,” he mutters into her hair, as he recognizes the scent of sweat and blood on her. She pulls back a little bit before looking up at him.

“They pulled a boy out of her.” 

She pauses then and Sébastien feels his heart drop again, pulling her back into his embrace. Napoléon who had divorced from Joséphine because she couldn’t provide him with an heir had chosen to save a young Austrian woman instead of his heir. The diplomatic untangling this would take to clear out - Sébastien didn’t dare think of it at all. Marie-Louise worms her way out of Sébastien’s embrace, and turns around to lean into him, as she pulls his arms over her shoulders, so that he’s holding her against him.

“It was stillborn,” she says then, quietly, and Sébastien knows that she’s looking over at Jean-Paul, who had been born right before a stillborn daughter. There’s a little silence after that, and Sébastien thinks back to the little lifeless bundle which had been placed in his arms a little over a decade prior and wonders how Marie-Louise of Austria must have been feeling, in this strange place filled with strangers, and a dead son. The only thing she had been brought in to do, provide an heir to the Emperor of France. And it hadn’t been enough. 

Marie-Louise sighs, Sébastien hears and feels it, and he puts his chin on the crook of her neck and her shoulder and watches their three boys. She rubs and strokes the back of his hand, and kisses it then.

“By then, they allowed us into the room, and Corvisart went to the boy and started rubbing him with rags and warm water to clean him up, in case of a miracle,” she begins, and Sébastien can feel himself stop up a little bit. “The boy started screaming after seven minutes.”

She moves out of Sébastien’s embrace and goes to the window to look at the streets below her, her face illuminated by the lights outside suddenly revealing that she’s crying. 

“They’re both alive,” she says then, and Sébastien feels the tears that had been building up in his eyes start rolling down his cheeks. “It’s the Imperial heir’s blood- I held him shortly,” she says, her voice breaking as she finishes her sentence in a sob, holding herself, as if she were hugging herself. “He was so beautiful, you should have seen his eyes.” 

He crosses over to her, and opens the little window, letting in the cold morning of a Spring sunrise, the sound of cannons suddenly echoing across the room. Putting his hand on her hip, he moves in next to her and feels her warmth. “They’re both alive.”

He hasn’t said anything, for what can he possibly say in this event? He can feel the taste of salt from his own tears, but when Marie-Louise turns around and watches him, they both smile at each other - how silly they both look, crying over a child that they hadn’t thought ever to care for, and when their lips connect, he’s happy to realize that Marie-Louise’s tears taste exactly the same as his. 

He embraces her, pulling her up and off her feet, and she exclaims in a laugh, which he recognizes as one of those laughs she only has after a heavy and hard day at work. It had been so close for Marie-Louise’s employment to end, when Sébastien had been imprisoned by the Emperor, but there had been nothing the most powerful man in the world could have done to keep her away from the Empress: Marie-Louise could speak to anyone and make them understand.

Sébastien still doesn’t understand how he got so lucky as to call Marie-Louise his wife, but he cherishes her every single day. He would never leave her side willingly, and in spite of everything they have been through - everything since the Révolution started and heads started rolling - he would walk through fire and through ice for her. 

Her tears make way for her smile, and the little stars and diamonds in her eyes make him forget that there are three almost grown sons looking over at them, having heard everything but disciplined enough not to say anything. He kisses her then, feeling the scent of morning dew in the air, tasting it as the cannons in the distance fire again, and again, and again… 

* * *

**March 25th, 1812**

Napoléon took Swedish Pomerania in January. The Russian Empire is still refusing to enforce the continental blockade against the United-Kingdom, and Bonaparte is growing mad at the idea that Russian ports are still welcoming British vessels. 

The Emperor’s obsession is growing every single day: soon, there will be nothing standing in his way to Russia, and Sébastien can feel the fear amongst all the men around him. Conscription has been growing every year since Napoléon became Emperor, and the young men around him are being called to arms every December. Jean-Louis is still far from the call - two years - and there’s still a little hope inside of Sébastien that something may happen to Napoléon before 1814, in order to make sure that Jean-Louis and none of his children will have to go fight in a war that he does not want to take part of.

So far, for Sébastien, the war has been had in words and wits, and in the shadows, but the idea of having to hold a bayonet and a smoking gun, pointing it in the direction of another man who hadn’t asked to be on the battlefield made his stomach turn. He was not a man of violence, not like his older brother, not like Donatien, who was a decorated war hero for the Austrians.

The mere idea that he would have to fight his own brother, should the Fates decide it, makes him both laugh and want to cry. But, the fact of the matter is that Marie Walewska, the Countess herself, has asked Napoléon to do something about the 300,000 men standing on the border to the Grand Duché de Varsovie, the client state of the French Empire created by Napoléon for the Polish people. Prussia had given up its lands during the Treaties of Tilsit in 1807, and for almost five years, the Duché de Varsovie has been kept virtually untouched. Napoléon’s ally, Frederick Augustus I of Saxony, Duke of Warsaw is the one legitimate heir to the Polish throne. 

The provocation of Russian troops right on the verge of a brand new Duchy had been almost too much for Napoléon to bear. But, the Emperor has other matters on his hands: the harvest of 1811 has been catastrophic. Cereal prices have soared to new heights that Sébastien only remembers from before the Révolution, and laws had been voted by the Sénat and the Emperor in order to keep the prices from reaching something completely absurd. Over 60 million souls and an Empire reached from Portugal to Austria, and the Emperor had not managed to secure enough feed for every single mouth under his hand.

One thing was for sure, that much Sébastien knew: whatever he did next would be decisive. Louis XVI had failed to see the importance of the bread for his people, and they’d taken his head for it. Maybe this failed crop and this failed season will be what brings Napoléon Bonaparte to his knees, he hopes. He isn’t sure whether or not it will turn out to be true, but the fact of the matter is that they’re in March and there have been riots in Caen: eight dead, six people executed for theft and another eight sent to forced labor. Things aren’t going well for Napoléon, who has managed to broker yet another peace treaty with Austria.

But, the presence of French troops in Swedish Pomerania is still an imminent threat and provocation: if the Russians are pressing the Duché de Varsovie, then Napoléon is pressing Russia by taking over the Swedish region and refusing to bulge. They have, effectively, reached a stalemate. Neither of them are willing to recall their troops, and from what Sébastien can see coming from years of war and treaties and coalitions and half upheld peace armistices, he knows that it won’t end well.

In December of 1811, Napoléon had called almost 120,000 new men at arms, and Sébastien knows that the very real threat of his son being called to arms is growing with each day that passes: the thought of sending Jean-Louis to Austria in order to avoid military service is tingling at the back of his head, but the disappearance of the oldest Le Livre son would cause quite the uproar. Especially with the whole street knowing of their relations with Austria - specifically, with Marie-Louise d’Autriche and the little Napoléon François Charles Joseph Bonaparte, roi de Rome. The young boy had been baptised on June 9th, 1811 in the Cathédrale Notre-Dame, named after his grandfathers and uncles. But, from the very moment that Napoléon had realized the importance of raising his son to become an heir and an as skilled politician and tactician as him, he had set the Empress Marie-Louise aside.

Something that Marie-Louise, Sébastien’s wife, feels personally: the young Empress feels depressed at the thought that she had been nothing but a womb for her husband. Something that Sébastien had known before even they had been wed - when it came to arranged marriages, the love that he had come to have with Marie-Louise had been built, brick by brick, and not by some signature on a piece of paper. Marie-Louise d’Autriche had told Marie-Louise le Livre that, “they were stealing my son, my child, and I would love to hold him and rock him, my darling child… I wish I could show him to the Emperor myself. I’m sure that in Austria, I would have been able to spend every day with my son.”

Marie-Louise has tried to give the Empress something to think about, and Sébastien knows that when nobody is listening, they speak in the Empress’ native language of Italian, something which she appreciates very much. Sébastien has never learned the language, Flemish and French being his strengths, but he is hoping to learn it someday, although age is already making itself known for him.

He’s turning 42 this year, and he knows what a life where the last 20 years has been spent working at the presses has done for him: standing up for extended periods of time has used his knees and his back, and he can still feel the part in the back of his head where he had fallen, all those years ago. 

* * *

**May 16th, 1812**

The worst possible thing has happened, and it has come like a thunderstrike out of a blue sky - absolutely out of nowhere and Sébastien has been panicked at the idea that there is nothing he can do.

The Minister of Defence, Henri-Jacques-Guillaume Clarke, duke of Feltre, has signed yet another 25,000 men to the Grande Armée, for Napoléon Bonaparte, Emperor of the French, has decided to march on Russia in order to push back the forces of Tsar Alexander the first. And, the previously freshly enlisted 120,000 men won’t be sufficient, nor will the men annexed when France took over the Netherlands.

They need more sons and more men at arms.

And, to do that, the Minister of Defence had asked help from the Minister of Justice, Claude Ambroise Régnier, duke of Massa di Carrara and of Police, Joseph Fouché, enlisting all suspects in all and any cases. Sébastien had long known that Joseph Fouché kept a file with his name on it, but he had never, ever, thought that it would ever be used for this very purpose: the Grande Armée was the last place that he would ever expect Napoléon to put him in.

But, even worse than Sébastien being drafted into a war he doesn’t want to be a part of is the fact that there had not been only one, but two conscription letters delivered to their homes at the beginning of May 1812. 

There had been two. 

One addressed to Sébastien Alphonse François le Livre, born in 1770 in the Principality of Liège to lawyer Maximilien Honoré Jules Augustin Le Livre and Françine Madeleine Le Livre, née Gourguechon. 

And one addressed to Jean-Louis Baptiste Toussaint le Livre, born in 1794 in Paris, to artisan Sébastien Alphonse François le Livre and Marie-Louise Joséphine Hortense le Livre, née Chaussée-Tirancourt.

“This can’t be,” Marie-Louise had claimed, when she had gotten the letters. Sébastien had read them first, handing them to her as the severity and the seriousness of the situation made its way into his soul.

He knows what this is - it’s a personal vendetta against himself and against his oldest son for any and all the trouble that his mere existence has caused the Emperor. He knows that it’s payback for him going to Vienna all those four years ago, and he knows that it’s because of his former work as a Forger, something he had only done in order to save the Royal children, that he is being brought into this war. He knows it, and he hates it.

“What?” Jean-Louis had asked, later that day, when he had come home from the shoemaker’s, where he'd been spending more and more time with the other young gentlemen of the street. Sébastien suspects that one of the young women is what is catching his attention. Jean-Paul and Jean-Pierre had already known by then, having come home from school to find their parents sitting down over a cup of tea which had grown cold and stale.

“Your father and you-” Marie-Louise had started, before the words had choked in her throat. Jean-Louis is filthy, they’ve probably been walking around Paris again, being cocky and young and innocent, but the seriousness on his face is a shadow on his young age. He’s only eighteen, he shouldn’t be involved in this - he had nothing to do with it. Marie-Louise tries again after taking a deep breath.

“You received a letter from the officers in charge of the Grande Armée,” she explains, as Sébastien is fiddling with the edges of the paper in his hands. Handing the letter addressed to Jean-Louis to him, Marie-Louise avoids his eyes. “You and your father have been summoned to fight for the Emperor,” she explains, as Jean-Louis turns the paper around, adjusting it in his hands, his eyes focusing on the writing.

The reaction he has then is not the one Sébastien was expecting, for when the reality of the situation sets in, Jean-Louis’ eyes grow wide. “That’s- Corentin has just received his letter too! I didn’t think- I’m only eighteen, I didn’t think that they would call me to arms before I was twenty, that’s what you’re always telling me, father!”

Sébastien looks up from the table at his son, a frown on his face. “You’re- you’re actually happy about this?”

Nodding, Jean-Louis lifts his hands, fist balled up and almost crumbling the official papers in his hands. “Yes! All my friends have been called to fight, and I would feel almost embarrassed if I remained here,” he puts his hand up stopping both Marie-Louise and Sébastien in their upcoming remarks, “and I know that you expect me to become something other than a soldier, but- things have changed since you were my age, father. Fighting for France is a rite of passage, I see so many of my former older friends come back victorious and they’re happy from what they’ve seen, and, there’s no risk anyways, Napoléon is too good of a leader for him to let us fail! Anything he sets his mind to, he succeeds, you have to give him that.”

Sébastien almost doesn’t have the heart to speak out against his own son, because Jean-Louis does have a point: Napoléon has succeeded in everything he has set his mind to since the Directoire sent him to Italy right after the Révolution. If the man is now Emperor of France, it’s mostly due to all of his moves and countermoves, positioned like a perfectly still chessboard. Rubbing his face, Sébastien feels tired. He’s above the regulated maximum age for new recruits into the Grande Armée, so he knows that even though his son is happy and exhilarated at this news, he will have to keep it together.

He’s older than the new recruits, but not older than Napoléon himself, and as long as the Emperor can keep his ass on the saddle of a horse, then Sébastien will be able to stay upright as well. Even if he knows that the campaign into Russia will be one of the most difficult campaigns Napoléon has ever endeavored: Russia is treacherous, and he doesn’t trust Alexander the first one bit. The Tsar has been praised for his own leadership.

“We will go to Russia together, then,” Sébastien says, getting up and hoping that the little hope bubbling in his chest will be a positive omen for the campaign. He embraces his son, who reciprocates, before they both turn to Marie-Louise, who seems to be the only one to look dissatisfied with the situation.

“If Napoléon takes both my husband and my son from me, the man will know nothing but the wrath of a widow and a mourning mother,” she says, almost as a curse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, was it unfair to use Napoléon II's name as the chapter title? He _did_ die, or at least was pronounced dead when he was born, so, it still counts, right? (I debated for a long time whether or not to call the chapter that, but eh, I guess it still counts!)  
> Napoléon II died at 21 years old from Tuberculosis in Vienna, and some French journalist says he was the absolute best ruler of France ever (he ruled for like... not very long and only by proxy) because he caused no wars, no famines and no bankrupties. I mean, he's right, but... Yeah.
> 
> Also, I took way too much joy at writing the scene between Sébastien & Napoléon at the beginning of the chapter. It was so much fun. Did you like it????
> 
> Anyway - we're here! In 1812! Which is the year Sébastien dies for the first time!!!! Aren't you guys just excited about it? I know I am! 
> 
> As always, find me [on tumblr](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com) and also on the Booker Enthusiasts Discord channel ♥
> 
> (ps: _you can also subscribe to this fic at the top of the page so you get an email notification when it updates!_ ☼)


	11. La Campagne de Russie - Les Préparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Campagne de Russie is beginning - there are 600,000 men amassed near Dresden, waiting for the last orders to march on Imperial Russia. Sébastien and Jean-Louis have been thrust into a well-oiled machine when it comes to war, but the two Le Livres are reacting differently to it: Sébastien is a foot soldier, Jean-Louis is a dragon on horseback. What difference will that make? And will Sébastien be able to keep Jean-Louis safe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No deaths in the title - I'm lining them all up for some chapters in a row... 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Campagne de Russie:** The French invasion of Russia began on 24 June 1812 when Napoleon's Grande Armée crossed the Neman (Niémen) River in an attempt to force Russia back into the Continental Blockade of United Kingdom that the Tsar Alexander had left on 31 December 1810.

* * *

  
**May 22nd, 1812**

Being drafted into the war against Russia is something that still hasn’t registered for Sébastien. Mostly because it all happened so fast - he barely had the time to realize what was happening before him and Jean-Louis had been brought out to the new garrison outside of Paris and been outfitted with their clothes and their gear.

The officers in charge didn’t care for what either him or Jean-Louis had to say as they handed them their clothing. Only what size they were using. 

Both of them were handed a navy blue wool cap, fitted with linen on the insides and earflaps, regulated and adjustable, in case they would be faced with cold and freezing temperatures. On top of that, the Shako, fit with brass and navy felt was adjustable on the back with a brass buckle, made for battle wear. The leather used still looks new, and Sébastien wonders exactly how much these had cost to make - the felt itself comes from abroad and from the colonies. He knows that some of the wool being brought in to equip the Napoléonic soldiers comes from the United-Kingdom, but nobody dares say anything too loud: the United-Kingdom is the reason they’re going to war, if it turns out that they’re the one equipping them for the war… well, it made no sense, did it? 

Watching Jean-Louis, all but 18 years old, throw the Shako onto his head and laugh with some of the other younger boys who had been drafted, only to be told off by some of the commanding officers for making fun of the military outfit shook Sébastien to his very core.

They’d had to say goodbye to Marie-Louise and the boys in a rush, in a hush, in a whisper: there had been nothing to do to escape, or they would have been written off as deserters. Once you’d been drafted, there was no going back.

As he adjusts all the different clothing in his military backpack - heavier than he’d like it - Sébastien thinks back to the last moment spent with Marie-Louise. The taste of her lips on his, and the fear in her eyes. They hadn’t said anything, and he’d said goodbye like he was coming back - he could not have lived with it if they had said goodbye forever. “Bring back my son,” Marie-Louise had told him, and Sébastien had known then and there that his only mission, the only thing that would keep him going as Napoléon decided to march into Russia was to make sure that Jean-Louis made it back alive to marry that girl he liked. He’d seen it: the way Jean-Louis blushed when they spoke of her, of Juliette, the shoemaker’s daughter, beautiful, plump and with rosy cheeks. It would be a good match, and Sébastien would use his army pension to pay for the wedding.

Wearing the habit vest, shallow and short, barely ending above the navel, he feels out of place. The sleeves are tight, almost too tight, and the wool is scratching his throat and his skin where there isn’t an undergarment. The uniform looks off on him, he’s older than most of the men in the garrison anyways, but Jean-Louis looks like he fits right in. The pointed lapels on Jean-Louis’ habit vest make him look even sharper, and Sébastien’s chest fills wide pride at the brave young man his oldest son has become. The trousers of grey linen make him look fit and beautiful, and he’s sure that a lot of the young ladies they’re going to pass on their way to Dresden will be turning their heads Jean-Louis’ way with envy. 

The thing that bothers Sébastien most about the whole uniform are the wooden shoes, with metal nails pegged on the bottom in order to keep them from slipping on the ground. He’ll have to break them in first, but he hopes that it won’t take too long: he can already feel the back of the shoe gnawing away at the back of his Achilles heel and it’s already hurting. He can’t imagine himself marching across France and into Austria on the way to Russia. 

But, there are 600,000 men waiting for Napoléon’s orders. A lot of them are foreigners, brought in from Italy, Austria and more, fighting for their Emperor because it’s their duty, not because they love the French. The alliance brokered with Austria has secured men from Austria who will fight side by side with the French, and when Sébastien had heard the news, he hoped that he would meet his brother on the way to the war.

Fighting side by side with his brother. Oh, what would their father have said to that? What could he have said? Seen his two sons and one of his grandsons sent off to a war that seems lost before it even begins - Sébastien knows that fighting the Russians in Russia is a bad idea. It seems that everyone knows it, even Caulaincourt seems to know that it’s a bad idea. But Napoléon fancies himself Emperor of all of Europe, and the disdain he has in the face of the trade Russia keeps entertaining with the United-Kingdom knows no bounds.

So, he is marching towards Dresden to amass his monstrous force and go straight for the Niémen in order to march towards Moscow. If he manages to take the capital city of the largest Empire on Earth, nobody will dare question his authority anymore.

But, as Sébastien watches his son mingle with those who are around his age, he can’t help but wonder how it will turn out. His son will be a Dragon, mounted infantry who dismounts to fight on foot. This was because somewhere in the files created for Sébastien and Jean-Louis, it had said that they owned a horse. And whereas it had been true that Sébastien had once owned a Morvan horse named Robespierre, that horse had been sold long ago. The fact hadn’t changed anything, and Jean-Louis had been sent out to join one of the 30 dragoon regiments.

No matter how much Sébastien hates Napoléon, he knows that the man is a genius when it comes to strategy, so maybe he _has_ a plan. Sébastien has read reports on the battles of Austerlitz and of Iéna, and he admits that they had been gambles. Gambles that had paid off and brought Napoléon to the height of his military career as a modern Emperor, based on the old Roman and Greek antiquities.

Napoléon even uses the Eagle as his coat of arms and Sébastien finds it funny that in spite of all the modern developments, military powers still go back to the majestic Eagle. It’s a symbol of strength, he knows, but it feels vain. There are no eagles on the battlefields.

Only crows and ravens. 

That won’t change the fact that Napoléon has called for a Conference in Dresden, to prepare for the invasion of Russia. He had arrived from Saint-Cloud on the 16th, accompanied by more than three hundred carriages, accompanied by the Empress herself and her maids of honor - but not Marie-Louise, who had refused to go in an act of protest against the drafting of her son and husband. The Emperor of Austria, Francois Ier, Frederick William III, King of Prussia and Frederick Augustus I, King of Saxony were all invited. Additionally, Maximilian I Joseph, King of Bavaria, Frederick I, King of Württemberg, Jérôme Bonaparte, King of Westphalia, Joachim Murat, King of Naples as well as all the princes of the smaller German states, grand dukes, dukes, field marshals and more had come around to see what the great Napoléon would do before invading Russia.

For now, though, Dresden is where they all will meet and greet and mingle until Napoléon gets word from the Tsar and his response to the ultimatum that was ceding lands to Prussia in compensation for those lost in previous wars and the creation of independent dukedoms from the Russian territories of Smolensk and of St Petersburg.

Some days later, when the Général Louis Marie Jacques Amalric, comte de Narbonne-Lara returned from Vilna with the decline from the Tsar, Napoléon voiced his opinion and the fact that there was no choice left but to open the hostilities against Russia. 

As he arrives in Dresden, Sébastien can already see what the Grande Armée is doing to change his son. The patriotism, camaraderie and the friendships he seems to have formed with some of the other members of the dragoon cavalry is making his oldest son grow. And, even though something inside of Sébastien’s soul hurts at the sight of his son being so happy with his situation as a soldier, he knows that he can’t expect anything less. He has an Austria general as a brother, and if his son manages to make his family proud, then maybe - just maybe - it will all be worth it.

As he sets up camp with the rest of his infantry, Sébastien looks for familiar faces. They’re all younger than him, but he does spot someone who looks like he may be the same age as him. Sitting by him that evening by the fire, Sébastien asks him his name.

“I’m Alphonse, I enlisted voluntarily,” the man replies and Sébastien is surprised at that. “I want to fight for my country before old age takes me,” Alphonse says, and Sébastien can’t say anything for a couple of seconds.

“I was asked to join the forces,” he replies, carefully then, “along with my son. He’s one of the youngest Dragons ever enlisted in the Grande Armée,” Sébastien brags and Alphonse’s smile spreads wide.

“You must be very proud of him!”

And, for a minute, as they both sit and watch the flames of the campfire dancing in the darkness, Sébastien thinks that yes, he is indeed proud of his son.

* * *

**June 22nd, 1812**

The last chance for Alexander I to comply with Napoléon’s demands has been rejected. He’d rather let his whole country burn than give up Swedish Pomerania, and while Sébastien understands the feeling, he would have liked it better if Tsar Alexander had agreed. It would have avoided him having to walk from Dresde all the way to the Niemen river along with the rest of Napoléon’s force of 600,000 men. 

For every day that goes, Jean-Louis grows more confident in his friendships with the other soldiers close to his age, and for every day that goes, Sébastien realizes that he won’t be able to keep an eye on his son at all times. They’re not in the same garrison, and they won’t be deployed in the same way when it comes to battle: Sébastien is lowest on the food chain, a foot soldier, whereas his son has been appointed a horse.

It’s a beautiful horse, Sébastien has no doubts about it: a beautiful mare, brown for the most part, but wearing socks on three of her legs. She had been brought into the fold when Napoléon had asked his countrymen to contribute to the war effort.

Sébastien has, now that he’s mingling with people from all over France, realized that Napoléon’s war effort is even more grand than he ever thought: as a Parisian, he learns that he knows nothing of the struggles of the people from outside of Paris. Where the crops had failed last year, it had been blamed on poor management from the farmers and the laborers, but as it turns out, the weather had just been to blame, and knowing that their people had starved because they hadn’t been able to produce enough crops…

Well, Alphonse feels responsible. He comes from the South West, near Montauban, and he usually produced enough grain to last for the winter for his little village. He wasn’t exactly the owner, Sébastien hadn’t entirely understood how that worked yet, but he was part of the parties responsible for the good harvest. And, when the Spring had been wet and cold all the way until March, it had doomed the harvest itself: there wouldn’t have been much to do either way, because the seed had to go into a humid ground and then sprout with dry sun. 

Neither had happened, because the fields had been filled with mud, and Alphonse’s faithful horse had barely been able to keep pulling the plow through the ground. And, if his horse broke his legs, Alphonse had told Sébastien, then he would have been out of a job. A lame horse is a dead horse.

“So, did you bring your horse to war?” Sébastien asks one evening, as they’re setting up camp after marching the entire day. Forty five minutes of marching, five minutes of breaks, and then back at it again: Sébastien’s shoes have been broken in, and so has his back and the rest of his entire body. It’s aching like it never has before, and even though Alphonse and Gérard, another of the infantrymen, had made fun of Sébastien at first, they’ve grown fond of him. At least, Sébastien can tell them stories they haven’t been able to read - they’re not that well educated, and they like that Sébastien knows fables by heart.

Putting his bread into the meagre soup that’s been rationed for them tonight, Sébastien looks up at Alphonse, who makes a grimace. “No, I didn’t. Left it to m’sons, you know? They gotta handle the grain and the crops this year.”

Alphonse isn’t as old as Sébastien, he’s still under thirty, which makes him eligible for conscription into the Grande Armée, but he already has a seven year old son.

“He’ll do his best to make sure there’s bread in France next year,” Alphonse replies and Sébastien realizes that he’s enjoying the mixing of cultures he’s meeting here in the army. In Paris it was all more of the same: the same people he met and the same things he read and ate, whereas here, it was a mixture and melting pot of all the cultures of France.

Sébastien smiles at the comment - he knows that it’s not an easy job to be a farmer, and he appreciates the honesty from the men at his side. Gérard is the oldest son of a wine-maker in the South of France, and he joined the Grande Armée during the last conscription because he had gotten in an embarrassing situation for his father. This would be his way to pay back the honor he had broken by getting the miller’s daughter pregnant. It had been an accident, Gérard said, they’d been planning on wedding before it became known that she was with child, but one thing had led to another and then when she hadn’t bled, well… His father had been so embarrassed he had given Gérard two options: go fight for the Grande Armée or stay and get taken out of the will.

Gérard had chosen the war, because at least, when he came back from Russia, he’d be able to care for the child he was going to welcome in a couple of months.

“How about you, le Livre? Your son’s a dragon, yes, but you have three in total?” Gérard asks, chewing loudly on the bread he’s been given. There’s meat in their soup too, chicken broth and bones and meat, and Sébastien actually enjoys the food. 

He swallows the bread and nods. “I have two more sons, yes, Jean-Paul, he’s fourteen and Jean-Pierre, he’s twelve, Jean-Louis is only eighteen, so it had been a surprise that he was drafted into the-”

“Wait, your son is eighteen? I thought the youngest people they were going to bring into the Grande Armée were 20 or older,” Alphonse interrupts, and Sébastien shrugs, which doesn’t help their curiosity, “Did you do something for him to be brought into the war? And you’re too old too, to have been called to arms normally.”

The two men’s eyes suddenly change and Sébastien realizes that their perception of him has shifted - is he a murderer, a thief, a rapist or something worse? He contemplates his possibilities. He could tell them about his feud with the Emperor, which they would probably dismiss as fables - as if a foot soldier like him knew the Emperor himself, that would have been presumptuous. He’d be dismissed immediately. But, maybe he stood a chance if he said something about fraud, omitting the forgery aspect of it. He takes a deep breath, feeling the burning sensation of the other’s eyes on him.

“I helped someone make fake statements to the government, and we were caught by the police,” he starts, feeling the lie come to life as he says it, “they were in money trouble and since I am good with writing, letters and the law…” He waves with his hands, leaving the rest up to Alphonse and Gérard who nod, their whole demeanor changing yet again, relaxing, accepting the half lie as truth.

“Well, haven’t we all hidden some gold coins under our beds,” Gérard says then quietly, and Alphonse nudges him with his elbow at the comment. 

“Don’t- we have done nothing but pay our taxes like the good citizens we are,” Alphonse says, a little too loud, making sure that anyone within earshot hears it. Sébastien smiles at the exchange. He isn’t sure how they would react if he told them about his forgery skills, but from what he’s learned of his past experiences with _that_ secret, it’s that the lesser people know, the better.

“Le Livre, there’s someone here for you!” their commanding officer calls out, and Sébastien immediately puts down the food and stands up at command. He’s learned the hard way that superior officers are to be obeyed - one of the forces of the Grande Armée was the way it functioned like a well oiled machine, everyone knowing their place and knowing what they were supposed to do. It was strict, and it was difficult to follow for someone like Sébastien who had known nothing but freedom of choice and freedom of speech for the better part of his life, but he admired the efficiency of it: the soldiers were well fed, taken care of, they had enough clothing to sustain them throughout the campaign and their training had created bands of camaraderie between each other.

So, even though Sébastien would have hated the speed at which he had stood up if you’d asked him two weeks ago, he now appreciates the efficiency that comes with the army. It’s well-organized, and it seems that nothing at all should be able to disrupt its path or function.

The commanding officer waves him over and Sébastien walks across their little campsite, seeing another officer in a foreign uniform speaking with his commander. It’s only when this other person turns around that Sébastien laughs in disbelief, “Donatien!”

His brother smiles, looking shiny and bright in the Austrian uniform, with medals pinned to his chest. Maybe that’s the reason why Sébastien’s commanding officer had beckoned him over - Sébastien had learned that there was no special treatment in the Grande Armée, not until you’ve proven yourself on the battlefield. And, for the men around him, those who have been with the Grande Armée for years, these new recruits know nothing of the life of a soldier - yet.

“Sébastien!” Donatien replies, and they embrace each other. Sébastien hasn’t seen Donatien for years, not since Vienna and the concert with Beethoven, and even though he had been mad at his brother for involving him in a conspiracy and politics against his wish, all of that disappears when he sees the lines on his brother’s face. They’re deeper than he saw him last, and he wonders what could possibly have his older brother so worried that it’s showing on his forehead.

“Walk with me, will you?”

Donatien doesn’t let Sébastien reply, as he takes him by the elbow and begins to walk away from the camp, along the little field outside of which they’ve camped.

“Nobody should hear us talk,” Donatien says, quietly, as they smile at some other soldiers walking the other way. It’s not a new sight, two soldiers of different uniforms walking side by side. Many men and nationalities make up the 600,000 men of the Grande Armée currently posted outside the Niemen, so it would surprise nobody to see a French uniform and an Austrian one walking as friends.

Even though it had not been so long since they had been fighting each other on the battlefield.

When they’re out of reasonable earshot, Donatien speaks up again. “I swear, if I ever meet Napoléon, I will kill him myself,” he mutters, and Sébastien is alarmed immediately.

“Why?”

Donatien makes a sound, more like a grunt, as if Sébastien is dumb not to realize the severity of the situation. “This isn’t a game, Sébastien. He sent you and Jean-Louis into this war for a reason,” Donatien starts, and Sébastien is surprised that his brother know about his predicament. “Napoléon has an ego that surpasses that of gods, and when I learned that you and Jean-Louis had been asked to join his army, I immediately began fearing the worst. Neither of you are soldiers, you’ve barely ever held a sword. Can you even ride?” He asks, and right as Sébastien is about the reply, Donatien interrupts him again, “You’ve made it this far, but even if it seems that the Grande Armée will enter Russia with confidence, you don’t know anything about this war. Everyone in Austria is worried: going against Alexander the first is madness, and surely your own Emperor and your friends know it. Russia is gigantic. They’ve never lost a war, and I don’t think that this is going to end well-”

“This is the greatest army the world has ever seen-” Sébastien tries, but is cut off yet again.

“The greatest army ever seen knows nothing of the way the Russians do war. You remember the treaty of Tilsit? Alexander was never going to keep his promise not to touch Napoléon’s beloved Poland, and he was never going to enforce the blockade against the United-Kingdom - he is untouchable. Even if we make it to Moscow, if the last riders come back with lack of an answer in the next few days, be very, very careful as to what might happen. This is not a war to take lightly, and it is your first, little brother.”

The worry in Donatien’s voice is real, and Sébastien can recognize exactly where it’s coming from. This isn’t where he’s supposed to be: all his life, Sébastien has claimed to never want to kill another man and that violence is never the source of happiness. Wars are to be made by others, while he wages the intellectual war from the safety of the streets of Paris. 

(Or relative safety).

For his brother, it must be his worst nightmare come true that Sébastien is now soon going to find himself on the front lines of a fight he isn’t prepared for.

So, instead of keeping quiet, Sébastien looks down at his feet and for the first time since the letter with his conscription was placed in his hands, he admits what he’s feeling out loud:

“I’m terrified, Donatien. They did this to get back to me, and I would have gladly joined the Grande Armée, but they pulled Jean-Louis into this too,” Sébastien looks up, meeting Donatien’s eyes, “I can’t keep him safe. He’s with the dragons, the cavalry- what can I possibly do as a father to keep him safe?”

He can feel his voice is on the verge of breaking: Jean-Louis had never been raised as a soldier. He would have joined the Grande Armée eventually if the need and the demand had been there when he turned 20 years old, but to be thrust into this because of something _Sébastien_ had done felt terribly unfair.

Donatien’s lips are in a tight line, and for a few seconds, Sébastien fears that his brother is going to mock him for his words. However, Donatien simply nods, putting his hand on Sébastien’s shoulder. For a second, it reminds Sébastien of when they were children, and Sébastien had just been pushed to the ground by some of the other boys. Donatien was always there to look after him, and had always been there to help him get back up. 

“I can’t do anything for you, you’re not cavalry, but I am in charge of the garrison. I can ask for Jean-Louis to be drafted under my command-”

“You’d do that?”

“- if you want me to.”

Sébastien had spoken before Donatien had finished his sentence, but when he did finish, Sébastien nodded. “He has grown fond of some of the other boys in his garrison, but… I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. I can’t- I couldn’t- Marie-Louise, she would never forgive me if I came back from this war and Jean-Louis did. She made me promise, Donatien. She made me promise that I would bring him back, no matter what. I brought us into this mess, I have to get us out of it,” he says, his voice breaking. It’s the truth: if he had just held himself together and kept out of trouble, avoiding helping Roederer and Barras all those years ago to help the children of another man escape, he wouldn’t be standing here in front of his older brother, who had done too much to keep him safe and now offered to do it yet again.

Donatien takes a deep breath. “You know, there’s a reason why I don’t have a wife and children,” Donatien says then, as if giving Sébastien a moment to think everything over.

“I cannot have children,” Donatien says, with a weak smile. “I have no bastards, and when I could not prove to the one woman I loved that I could- that I could give us a child, she left. Claiming that her father had promised her to someone else instead,” Donatien explains, and Sébastien’s eyes look for any trace of lie or mischief in his brother’s eyes. “The only way that our family survives is if your sons survive. Our father worked too hard to see our name forgotten, and for that, I will do everything in my power to succeed. You had three sons, let me help you save one of them, yes?”

Sébastien can only nod his head sheepishly, before Donatien forces him into a hug. It feels more like what a bear would do, and Sébastien appreciates the familiarity of it, missing the arms of his wife when he falls asleep at night, and the sound of his three sons arguing about matters of lesser importance.

“I am sorry, Donatien- I didn’t know,” he tries to say, but his voice is muffled by the embrace, and when they separate, Donatien looks him in the eye.

“You will make it back to Marie-Louise. You and Jean-Louis, both of you, I’ll do my best to make sure of that, I promise.”

Donatien’s voice is firm and strong, and Sébastien feels like together, they will be invincible. Together, they can do anything: together they can win the war in Russia and return to their home. Maybe, when he comes home from Russia, Sébastien will finally make the decision to leave Paris and come live in Austria. It’s safer there, and his brother will be able to give them a good home. And, with the blessing of Marie-Louise d’Autriche, their familiarity with the Austrian Imperial family would help them. 

Oh, how he misses music concerts and cultural events: the last twenty years have been nothing but war and worry. It’s only been a little over twenty years since the Bastille was taken by force, and it’s barely been twenty years since the last King of France had been beheaded, but Sébastien had already seen enough. He’s 42 years old - that’s old already, and he hopes that he will live just long enough for either of his sons to have children of their own. He knows that Marie-Louise also looks forward to Jean-Louis one day announcing that he is getting married, and even though Jean-Pierre is still only twelve years old, the idea of grand-children is already on Sébastien’s mind.

Donatien nods at him then, putting his hand on the back of Sébastien’s neck, turning around, back towards the camp they’ve left behind.

“What did you do to piss him off, though?” Donatien asks, and Sébastien looks at him surprised.

He frowns. “For someone who knows as much as you seem to know, Donatien, I’m surprised you aren’t aware, or that Marie-Thérèse didn’t tell you. The papers that the King and Queen travelled to Varennes on? I made those papers,” he says quietly, looking down at the ground in front of him, fearing for the reprisals from his brother. 

When they don’t come and he realizes his brother is no longer following him, Sébastien stops, and turns around to watch Donatien’s face.

“You- wait-” Donatien catches up with him in a few long steps, “You were a part of that?” he asks, incredulous and Sébastien nods.

“Roederer bragged about it to Napoléon, many, many years ago, and I fear that it’s his knowledge of that which has put me in this situation,” he says, until Donatien takes his shoulders. “I also accompanied Marie-Thérèse to Switzerland, when they exchanged her for some French prisoners of war,” he says, sheepishly.

“I was- you were- you were there, when we exchanged the princess?” Donatien asks, and this time, it’s Sébastien’s turn to frown. 

“Yes?”

“That’s the day where I defected from the Armée Royale and joined the Austrian army,” Donatien says. “When I saw that they brought the princess out of France- I can’t believe we didn’t recognize each other,” he laughs, and for a second, Sébastien finds the hilarity of the situation as funny as his brother seems to do.

“I rode in on a Morvan-horse, the only one who couldn’t stay still during the exchange,” he comments, and Donatien laughs out loud at that. The sound is surprising, Sébastien has not heard his brother laugh in decades, but it’s a welcome sight and sound: there has been too little laughter around him for too long.

“I remember- he almost kicked you off. We all thought its rider would fall off when you took the road back to France,” he says, as they reach the camp again.

“I better leave you now, Sébastien. But, I will go talk to the commander of Jean-Louis dragons and ask for him to be transferred into my own ranks. That way, I am sure that he won’t face anything he isn’t prepared to. Napoléon will concoct enough plans that I don’t think the fighting will need cavalry. What he did in Austerlitz against us was enough proof to make me wonder if, and that’s a big if, he may just be able to beat Alexander. We have no choice left but to follow and see what happens.”

And with a little pat on the back, Donatien turns around, leaving Sébastien standing in the middle of the road. He sees both Alphonse and Gérard motioning for him to come back by their side, and when they ask him what that was about, Sébastien decides that they are entitled to know that it was his brother. What he tells them as to why his brother is a commanding officer in the Austrian army though, that’s between him and them. 

* * *

**June 24th, 1812**

The Grande Armée’s advance is moving forward still. Napoléon has received word that the Russian army has separated into three moving parts: the 1st Western Army, with Mikhail Barclay de Tolly at its command is positioned along the border with East Prussia and the Duché de Varsovie. They’ll be the ones to invade the Duché de Varsovie the very moment that Napoléon seems to lose his grip on the military superiority in this war.

The 2nd Western Army, commanded by Prince Pyotr Bagration, a general and prince of Georgian origin, who was tasked to keep the line a little bit further South, in what would later become modern Belarus. 

The 3rd Western Army, located even further South, is led by a Russian cavalry general, Alexander Tormasov. The Tsar himself is in Barclay de Tolly’s headquarters near Vilna - and has been for some time. That’s why they’re crossing the Niemen now, here, today.

The weather is suffocating - Sébastien can barely bear the weight of his equipment on his back. The humidity in the air would surely kill him, if his feet hadn’t already been paining him for the better part of the day. Gérard and Alphonse next to him in the ranks are suffering as much as him, that much is clear from the sweat pouring down their faces. Sébastien can feel the salt from his sweat in his mouth, and when he uses his sleeve to brush the water off his face, he doesn’t know if it makes him feel worse or better.

They’re near Kovno, in three large groups, the entire Grande Armée spread over 650 kilometers, hoping to enter Russia as a single, great group. They’re marching for Drissa, one of the camps that Russians have set up to defend their city. 

Sébastien feels lost without the information from the newspapers: all that they’re getting is from what their generals tell them, and he isn’t allowed to ask questions. You go where the Emperor wants you to go, or you’ll be considered a deserter.

There’s a storm brewing in the air, and Sébastien has enough experience with thunderstorms to know that it’s going to be bad. As they reach the Niémen that morning, the carpenters and builders getting right to building the bridge that will take them across, Sébastien sits down, slightly to the side. 

Donatien had managed to draft Jean-Louis to his own cavalry, but it hadn’t been without protests: Jean-Louis had immediately known that it had happened after interference from his father, and had left with nothing but grim words for Sébastien. Calling him a traitor, a liar and wishing that Sébastien hadn’t been his father - the embarrassment of being called into his Uncle’s cavalry had apparently caused enough of a scene amongst his new friends that Sébastien regretted meddling with his son’s affairs. 

But even though Sébastien still hurts from the words his son had spit at him - calling him a traitor had been a low blow - he knows that Jean-Louis will be safe with Donatien in the Austrian battalion. As he sits down, Sébastien wishes for nothing more than a soft breeze to cool him down. The wool on his back is making him sweat like an ox, and he can’t imagine marching all the way to Drissa - or even to Moscow - in this blazing heat. 

And the summer is only starting. Napoléon had said that the campaign wouldn’t last long - they would crush the Russian army and be back in France before they knew it. There’s a gamble to be made, Sébastien realizes, as he watches Alphonse open the backpack they’ve been equipped with, and slowly pull out one of the wool coats. It’s meant for winter warfare, but in the blazing heat, it seems to be nothing but dead weight.

Watching as his friend discards the wool under a rock, Sébastien says nothing when their eyes lock. It’ll make Alphonse’s backpack ever the more lighter - wool is heavy, Sébastien has found out - but if it is discovered, Alphonse will be punished. They aren’t supposed to simply lose or misplace their items, previously crafted for the sake of warmaking. Putting the metal flask he’s attached to one of the straps of the backpack to his mouth, Sébastien drinks the water he’s filled the flask with earlier that morning.

The water is from a stream, and there’s no way of knowing whether or not it will kill him: he’s seen some others begin to look rather pale, and Sébastien has read enough about medicine back when he was in Paris to know the signs of dysentery and of typhus when he sees them. Gérard had been plagued with vomiting one night prior, and had been nauseated the entire day, the heat causing his symptoms to worsen. At night, he couldn’t sleep and the smell accompanying the man only held one meaning - the stool was as bad as what came back up. 

Gérard has been having trouble keeping anything down, that they feed them, and they’re barely three days into the campaign. Sébastien is thankful that he has kept himself as clean as he can. The water they drink comes from the same streams, so it isn’t completely impossible that Sébastien won’t catch whatever is plaguing his friend. 

As the three of them share a knowing look, Alphonse closing the sack again, while Gérard sits down and heaves for air with difficulty, Sébastien realizes that there’s a commotion somewhere further up. 

“They’ve abandoned the camp!” someone yells, passing by them, as they head down to the rest of the camp, down to the commander’s quarters. Which camp? Who? How?

Sébastien gets back up, the familiar weight of the backpack on his shoulders and looks around. There is no sign of further unrest, so surely, whatever has happened must have happened somewhere else. It’ll be some hours before the carpenters have secured the bridge for their crossing: the Russians have destroyed their own bridges across the Niémen in order to slow them down, but thankfully the Grande Armée has engineers and builders in its corps strong and clever enough to outsmart even the Russians. 

“What did he say?” Alphonse asks, as he inches closer to Sébastien who closes his flask, attaching it to the strap gain. 

“Something about abandoning camp,” he mutters, as all eyes turn to the commander’s quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this chapter was going to be 12k, but I decided to split it up for #reasons. But there would've been no deaths in the chapter title anyways, we need to get to the good part first!
> 
> How nice is it to see Jean-Louis grow into his own person, though? And Gérard and Alphonse are awesome characters to write. I really enjoyed the research that went into Booker's Napoleonic Soldier gear. [This guy's videos on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NfsDL13Ua7E) were awesome, I highly recommend them!
> 
> As always, find me [on tumblr](https://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/) and also on the Booker Enthusiasts Discord channel ♥


End file.
